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ALISON    WATCHED,    HALF    FASCINATED    BY    IIUKROR. 


[See  fci^e  142- 


AU  NT    DIANA 


BY 

ROSA  NOUCHETTE  CAREY 

AUTHOR  OF  'NELUBS  MEMORIES.'  'NOT  LIKE  OTHER  G/SLS.'  'ESTHER  CAMERON'S 

STORY.-  ETC 


PHILADELPHIA ; 
J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

1889 


AUNT    DIANA. 


CHAPTER   I. 

ALISON   DROPS    HER    ROSES. 

YJljTHERE  are  conflicts  in  most  lives — real  hand-to-hand  combats, 
f  l[  r  that  have  to  be  fought,  not  with  any  fleshly  weapons,  but  with 
W^  the  inner  forces  of  the  being — battles  wherein  the  victory  is  not 
^^  always  to  the  strong,  where  the  young  and  the  weak  and  the 
little  ones  may  be  found  abiding  nearest  to  the  standards. 

Such  a  conflict  had  come  to  Alison  Merle,  breaking  up  the  surface 
of  her  smooth  outer  life,  and  revealing  possible  shoals  and  quicksands, 
in  which  many  of  her  brightest  hopes  might  be  wrecked,  when  Duty 
with  its  sternest  face  seemed  to  beckon  to  her  on  one  side,  and  Incli- 
nation whispered  tenderly  into  her  ear  on  the  other,  '  You  are  too 
young  for  such  a  piece  of  self-sacrifice ;  no  one  in  their  senses  would 
ask  such  a  thing  of  you.' 

*  It  is  hard.  I  do  not  know  that  even  if  Aunt  Di  think  it  right  I 
shall  ever  have  the  heart  to  do  it,'  murmured  Alison,  talking  to  her- 
self in  her  agitation,  after  the  manner  of  older  folk.  '  I  have  just 
rooted  myself  in  this  dear  place,  and  the  soil  suits  me.  I  could  not 
flourish  anywhere  else  ;  and,'  finished  Alison,  with  a  quaint  little 
smile,  *  sickly  plants  are  worth  nothing.' 

To  any  ordmary  spectator  the  interior  of  that  little  room  would 
have  presented  a  picture  of  perfect  serenity  and  absolute  comfort. 
Even  the  young  creature  comfortably  seated  in  a  chair  by  the  window, 
with  an  open  letter  and  a  cluster  of  deep  red  roses  lying  amongst  the 
folds  of  her  white  gown,  presented  no  disturbing  image,  though  the 
cheek  had  lost  its  wonted  fresh  colour,  and  the  dark,  dreamy  eyes 
had  a  look  of  doubt  that  was  almost  pain  in  them. 

It  was  a  still,  drowsy  afternoon  in  June;  down  in  the  pleasant 


6  AUNT  DIANA. 

garden  below  all  the  winged  creatures  in  nature  were  holding  high 
revel ;  a  butterflies'  feast  seemed  to  be  held  among  the  roses  ;  gnats 
and  dragon-flies  moved  in  giddy  circles  over  the  lawn  ;  two  or  three 
solemn  brown  bees  had  met  in  conclave  over  one  flower-bed  ;  while 
the  insects  danced  airily  and  boomed  through  their  tiny  trumpets,  a 
shrill  concert  sounded  from  the  trees  overhead  ;  through  the  thick 
foliage  one  could  catch  the  silvery  gleam  of  water ;  the  splash  of  an 
oar  sounded  in  the  distance,  then  another,  slow,  measured,  rhythmic  ; 
surely  an  afternoon  for  an  idle  mood,  when  one's  thoughts  might  cull 
sweets  like  the  bees. 

The  low  bay  window  at  which  Alison  was  sitting  was  framed  in 
roses,  the  long  sprays  tapped  softly  against  the  glass ;  the  greenery 
had  transformed  it  into  an  old-fashioned  bower,  and  many  a  wander- 
ing bee  found  its  way  inside,  in  curious  investigation  of  the  flower- 
filled  vases. 

How  Alison  had  grown  to  love  that  room  !  She  looked  round  it 
now  with  half-regretful,  appreciative  eyes,  that  noted  every  trifle — 
the  white  tent  bed,  the  wardrobe  that  Aunt  Di  had  so  tastefully 
painted  with  her  own  hand  (a  marvellous  work  of  art  in  Alison's  eyes), 
the  hanging  book-cases,  the  little  writing-table,  the  snug  couch  with 
its  nest  of  pillows,  the  simply  framed  landscapes  on  the  wall,  all  the 
work  of  the  same  skilful  hand ;  the  tame  canary  pluming  its  yellow 
coat  fussily  after  its  bath.  Surely  an  ideal  girl's  room  !  And  Alison 
did  so  love  the  beauty  and  fitness  of  things — anything  that  was  ugly 
or  disorderly  gave  her  positive  pain. 

'  You  are  a  little  Sybarite,'  Aunt  Diana  said  once,  with  a  chiding 
laugh.  '  A  crumpled  rose-leaf  would  disturb  your  slumbers.  What 
a  comfort  that  I  have  transplanted  you  from  The  Holms  !  The 
atmosphere  of  Moss-side,  old-maidish  as  it  is,  suits  you  much  better. 
A  constitution  like  Roger's  can  stand  it,  but  hardly  you,  Ailie.' 

Alison  remembered  this  speech  ;  it  had  pained  her  a  little  at  the 
time;  it  was  just  one  of  Aunt  Diana's  shrewd  speeches  that  brought 
one  suddenly  face  to  face  with  oneself,  like  one's  image  reflected  in 
an  over-true  looking-glass. 

Was  that  true  of  her?  Was  she  really  as  indolent  and  luxury- 
loving  as  Aunt  Diana's  words  seemed  to  imply  ? 

The  discomforts  of  her  home  life  had  been  very  great.  Looking 
back  through  the  glamour  of  these  two  happy  years,  during  which 
she  had  lived  at  Moss-side,  her  life  seemed  to  her  almost  unbearable, 
and  yet  she  had  shared  it  with  those  she  dearly  loved.     Was  not 


ALISON   DROPS   HER   ROSES.  7 

Roger  part  of  it,  and  Rudel  and  her  father,  not  to  mention  Missie 
and  Poppie  ?  Was  it  not  an  unnatural  thing  that  she  should  be 
blooming  here,  a  petted  exotic,  instead  of  abiding  in  the  rougher 
home  soil  ? 

Two  years  ago — she  had  been  sixteen  then,  and,  oh,  how  dis- 
contented and  ill  and  unhappy  she  had  been  !  It  was  not  only  the 
loss  of  her  mother,  it  was  her  own  incapacity  for  responsibility,  her 
morbid  dislike  to  her  surroundings,  that  had  fretted  all  her  fine 
colour  away.  Perhaps  her  health  may  have  been  partly  the  cause, 
but  surely  she  need  not  have  been  so  disagreeable,  so  captious,  so 
miserable,  so  disposed  to  look  on  the  dark  side  of  everything,  that 
even  Roger,  with  all  his  sweet  temper,  gave  her  a  wide  berth,  and 
her  father — well,  thought  Alison,  with  a  shadowed  brow,  her  father 
had  never  quite  understood  her.  Change  of  air  would  do  her  good, 
and  then  Aunt  Diana  had  come  down  upon  them  with  the  freshness 
of  a  moorland  breeze. 

*  You  must  give  your  eldest  girl  to  me,  Ainslie,'  she  had  said  to 
Alison's  father ;  '  she  wants  care  and  cherishing  more  than  Miss 
Leigh  has  time  to  give  her.  She  looks  overgrown  and  sickly  ;  and,' 
finished  Aunt  Diana,  with  a  funny  little  laugh,  '  I  am  a  neat  sort  of 
person,  and  I  do  hate  to  see  a  round  thing  trying  to  fit  itself  into  a 
square  hole ;  it  leaves  all  the  corners  empty  and  ready  for  dust.' 
And,  of  course.  Aunt  Diana  had  her  way. 

Instead  of  the  whirr  of  machinery — for  her  father's  saw-mills  were 
just  behind  their  house — Alison  had  now  only  to  listen  to  the  soft 
flow  of  the  river  that  ghded  below  the  green  lawns  and  shrubberies 
of  Moss-side  ;  instead  of  waking  up  in  the  morning  to  look  across 
the  dusty  shrubs  and  trees  to  the  vast  wood  piles  and  masses  of  un- 
sawn  timber,  that  seemed  endlessly  between  her  and  the  blue  sky, 
Alison's  eyes  had  now  the  finest  prospect :  one  shaded  garden  seemed 
to  run  into  another,  and  when  the  willows  were  thinned  or  bare  in 
winter-time,  what  a  view  of  the  river  and  green  meadows  on  the 
opposite  side ! 

The  moral  surroundings  were  almost  as  much  changed.  Instead 
of  Miss  Leigh's  dry  method  of  instruction — her  laboured  and 
hackneyed  phrases,  suggestive  of  the  bare  bones  of  wisdom — Aunt 
Diana  had  placed  within  her  reach  many  a  pleasant  short  cut  to 
knowledge,  had  suggested  all  sorts  of  enviable  accomplishments; 
money  was  not  stinted  where  Alison's  talents  could  be  turned  to 
account     Lavish  by  nature,  Aunt  Diana  showed  herself  liberal  in  all 


8  AUNT   DIANA. 

that  concerned  her  niece's  welfare.  What  she  could  teach  herself 
she  taught  widiout  regarding  time  or  pains  ;  when  she  left  it  to 
others,  she  surrounded  Alison  with  a  certain  wise  oversight  that 
made  itself  felt ;  faults  were  rebuked  smilingly,  little  errors  of  judg- 
ment commented  on  by  a  passing  word.  Aunt  Diana  could  be 
abrupt,  critical,  keen  as  a  sea  breeze,  but  her  censure  never  hurt  or 
stung  or  corroded,  as  some  people's  sharp  speeches  did.  Alison 
always  heard  her  humbly,  owned  her  right,  and  set  herself  to  do 
better. 

In  this  pleasant  but  bracing  atmosphere  Alison  had  thriven  and 
grown.  She  was  still  a  tall  slim  girl,  somewhat  youthful  in  look,  but 
with  plenty  of  warm  life  and  energy  about  her  ;  and  though  the  dark 
eyes  had  still  their  old  trick  of  dreaming,  they  seemed  to  dream  more 
happily,  and  the  shadow  did  not  lie  so  deep  in  them — not,  at  least, 
until  the  June  afternoon,  when  Alison  sat  sighing  and  visibly  dis- 
turbed with  her  lap  full  of  roses.  It  was  evident  at  last  that  she 
found  her  thoughts  too  painful,  for  after  another  half-hour's  intense 
brooding  she  suddenly  jumped  up  from  her  seat,  scattering  the 
flowers  where  they  lay  unheeded  on  the  Indian  matting,  and  walked 
abruptly  to  the  door. 

She  had  dropped  her  letters,  too  ;  but  she  went  back  and  picked 
them  up,  not  replacing  them  in  their  envelopes,  and  then  she  went 
out  into  the  passage. 

A  dark  oak  staircase  led  into  a  little  square  hall,  fitted  up  with 
book-cases  like  a  library,  with  a  harmonium  on  one  side ;  a  glass 
door  opened  into  a  conservatory,  through  which  one  passed  into  the 
garden. 

Alison  turned  the  handle  of  a  door  just  opposite  the  staircase,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  hesitating  on  the  threshold. 

What  a  pleasant  room  that  was,  half  studio  and  half  drawing-room, 
full  of  cross  lights,  and  artistically  littered  with  an  odd  jumble  of 
mediaeval  and  modern  furniture — oak  chairs  and  cabinets,  basket- 
work  lounges,  tiny  tea-tables,  fit  for  Liliputian  princesses,  and  hang- 
ing cupboards  of  quaint  old  china  that  gave  warm  colouring  to  the 
whole.  A  wiry  brown  terrier  with  bright  eyes  jumped  up  with  a 
welcome  bark  ;  a  small  black  kitten,  about  the  size  of  a  moderate 
piece  of  coal,  followed  him  gingerly.  Alison  stooped  down  to  caress 
them,  but  her  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  a  lady  who  stood  with  her 
back  towards  her,  painting  at  an  easel. 

•  Well,  child,  what  now  ? '     The  voice  was  nicely  modulated,  clear, 


ALISON    DROPS   HER    ROSES.  9 

and  musical,  but  the  manner  slightly  abrupt.  Alison  lifted  up  Jetty 
in  her  arms  while  Trip  rolled  over  at  her  feet,  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
testify  his  joy.  'I  have  come  to  see  you,  Aunt  Di,'  she  returned,  in 
an  hesitating  way. 

*  And  I  suppose  you  prefer  my  profile  to  my  front  face,'  remarked 
Miss  Carrington  drily,  as  she  painted  a  troublesome  little  piece  of 
foliage.  *  Alison,'  in  a  more  animated  manner,  *  my  special  muse  is 
cross-grained  to-day  ;  I  cannot  woo  her  with  these  blues  and  greens 
at  all ;  this  tree  does  not  please  me  ;  I  wanted  an  effect  of  shadowy 
brightness,  such  as  one  sees  when  the  wind  plays  through  the  leaves, 
and  the  road  is  flecked  with  a  sort  of  lattice  work  of  moving  lights 
and  shades,  but  this  is  far  too  sombre.' 

Alison  came  forward  at  once,  and  inspected  the  picture.  *  It  is 
very  pretty.  Aunt  Di,'  she  said,  forgetting  her  own  worries  in  a 
moment.  '  It  is  one  of  your  best.  I  think  1  see  what  you  mean, 
but  to  me  it  is  all  beautiful ;  that  old  man — a  pensioner,  is  he  not  ? 
and  that  poor,  tired  sheep,  that  seems  to  have  dropped  down  by  the 
way,  left  behind  by  the  flock,  is  so  suggestive  of  the  title  "  Noontide 
rest."' 

'  That  is  what  I  intended.  You  are  an  intelligent  child,  Ailie ; 
both  the  man  and  the  sheep  must  be  old ;  it  is  not  for  young 
creatures  to  rest  at  noontide ;  my  old  pensioner  has  already  borne 
the  burthen  and  heat  of  the  day.' 

'  Of  course,  I  see  what  you  mean.  Aunt  Di.' 

*  My  parable  is  not  hard  to  read,'  replied  Miss  Carrington  with  a 
smile;  but  as  Alison  studied  the  picture  with  increased  interest  and 
admiration,  a  pair  of  shrewd,  kindly  eyes  were  studying  the  girl's  face. 

'  Go  and  put  yourself  in  that  easy  chair  opposite,  and  tell  me  all 
about  it,'  she  said  at  last,  rousing  her  by  a  good-humoured  little 
push.  '  I  must  finish  this  branch  if  I  am  to  enjoy  my  night's  rest, 
but  I  can  listen  to  any  amount  of  lettered  woes,'  with  a  suggestive 
glance  at  Alison's  hand. 

'  Oh !  Aunt  Di,  how  do  you  find  out  things  so  ? '  stammered 
Alison  ;  then,  as  though  used  to  obedience,  she  moved  to  the  chair 
that  was  always  reserved  for  Miss  Carrington's  visitors,  whom  she 
was  wont  to  entertain  after  a  fashion  of  her  own. 

People  always  got  on  with  Miss  Carrington,  but  they  found  it 
difficult  to  describe  her  ;  no  one  knew  her  age  exactly,  and  certainly 
no  one  would  have  ventured  to  put  such  a  question. 

As  some  one  once  said  of  her,  '  she  was  made  up  of  negatives/ 


lO  AUNT   DIANA. 

she  was  neither  young  nor  old,  she  was  not  stout,  but  still  less  was 
she  thin  ;  no  one  in  their  senses  could  call  her  handsome — the  word 
did  not  suit  her  at  all,  but  neither  would  any  one  with  eyes  in  their 
head  call  her  plain.  An  old  Scotch  serving  man  once  described  her 
best  in  her  younger  days,  when  he  said,  '  Eh,  but  Miss  Diana  is  real 
bonnie,'  and  '  real  bonnie  '  she  was  still.  The  negatives  held  good 
in  the  matter  of  dress  ;  it  was  an  odd  thing,  but  people  never  could 
remember  exactly  what  Miss  Carrington  wore  ;  she  had  a  style  of 
her  own,  they  said,  and  it  exactly  suited  her,  and  though  this  was 
somewhat  vague,  it  hit  the  truth  somehow.  Miss  Carrington  had  a 
style  of  her  own,  as  befitted  a  middle-aged  gentlewoman,  one  who 
neither  wanted  to  look  young  nor  dreaded  to  look  old,  who  could 
see  the  first  streak  of  grey  in  her  bright  brown  hair  without  making 
herself  unhappy  about  it.  *  We  are  bound  to  grow  old,'  as  she  was 
given  to  remark,  '  and  I  do  not  see  that  we  need  want  to  loiter  behind 
our  contemporaries.  Every  season  of  the  year  is  good  ;  spring  is 
the  friskiest  time,  but  autumn  has  warm,  mellow  tints  of  its  own  ; 
when  my  hair  is  quite  grey  I  mean  to  tell  every  one  I  think  it  the 
most  becoming  colour.' 

In  her  youth  people  had  found  fault  with  Diana  Carrington  ;  '  she 
was  too  matter-of-fact,  too  bracing,  too  abrupt  for  their  taste,'  they 
said ;  '  they  liked  a  more  womanly  softness,  it  was  more  becoming  in 
a  girl.'  And  perhaps  they  were  right.  Miss  Carrington  was  a  little 
abrupt,  though  this  trait  showed  less  markedly  in  her  mature  age ; 
but  then  she  was  so  healthy-minded  and  vigorous.  In  society  she 
had  certainly  seemed  a  little  out  of  place,  much  as  a  piece  of  moor- 
land heather  would  look  if  it  were  suddenly  transplanted  into  a  hot- 
house full  of  delicate  exotics.  She  was  not  ungraceful — far  from  it ; 
but  she  could  never  be  made  to  understand  the  light  current  coin  of 
society — the  unmeaning  flow  of  words  that  passed  for  conversation. 
She  liked  to  talk  of  things  that  interested  her,  or  else  to  be  wholly 
silent. 

'Why  are  you  always  so  dreadfully  in  earnest?'  one  of  her 
partners  said  to  her ;  '  when  we  are  on  the  playground,  we  need  not 
discuss  all  these  serious  matters.' 

'  One  gets  tired  of  nothing  but  play,'  returned  Diana,  a  little 
crossly  at  this,  for  she  was  interested  in  the  subject,  and  wanted  to 
pick  the  brains  of  her  companion  for  her  own  purposes  ;  '  grown-up 
children  get  the  worst  of  it.  When  we  are  young  we  are  allowed  to 
choose  our  own  playfellows— little  girls,  I  mean,'  which  was  certainly 


ALISON   DROPS   HER   ROSES.  II 

rude  of  Diana,  only  the  gentleman  received  it  with  a  good-natured 
laugh,  and  after  that  they  were  good  friends  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

'  I  really  am  glad  I  am  not  a  girl  any  longer,'  observed  Miss 
Carrington  once,  confidentially  to  a  lady  who  very  much  disliked 
growing  old,  '  one  is  so  much  more  free,  and  then  one  can  say  more 
what  one  likes ;  a  girl  cannot  be  eccentric,  it  is  bad  form ;  she  must 
follow  the  footsteps  of  the  flock,  and  a  very  good  thing  too.  I  have 
just  come,  not  to  the  prettiest,  but  to  the  most  perfect  age,  when  the 
tether  is  removed,  and  I  am  at  liberty  to  wander  into  pastures  new 
at  my  own  sweet  will,  and  no  one  can  say  a  word ;'  but  whatever  she 
meant  by  this  queer  bit  of  philosophy,  Diana  certainly  was  happier 
in  her  middle  age  than  she  had  been  in  her  sweet  youth. 

*  Real  bonnie,'  not  only  in  face  bot  in  heart ;  what  better  could  be 
said  of  any  woman  ? 

'  I  wonder  how  long  I  am  to  have  patience,'  observed  Miss  Car- 
rington, painting  on  industriously,  as  Alison  sat  with  drooping  head, 
looking  at  her  letters  without  offering  to  read  them.  '  I  am  quite 
sure  those  are  Rudel's  straggling  characters ;  that  boy's  handwriting 
is  a  disgrace  to  the  family  ;  it  has  put  him  out  of  my  will  for  ever ; 
fancy  one's  nephew  being  such  a  sorry  scribe.' 

'  Rudel  does  write  badly,'  returned  Alison,  with  a  faint  little  smile, 

*  but  I  like  his  letters  better  than  Missie's ;  there  is  one  from  Miss 
Leigh,  too  ;  do  you  admire  her  handwriting.  Aunt  Di  ?  ' 

'  No,  it  is  too  thin  and  angular,'  returned  Miss  Carrington  severely  ; 

*  it  wants  freedom  and  breadth ;  it  reminds  me  too  much  of  Miss 
Leigh  herself.' 

'  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  say  that,'  returned  Alison  delightedly ;  '  I 
thought  it  was  only  my  own  naughtiness,  but  1  know  I  always  found 
her  so  depressing.' 

'  Miss  Leigh  is  a  very  excellent  person — I  quite  agree  with  your 
father  in  that ;  she  has  a  mine  of  gold  locked  up  in  her  if  one  could 
only  find  the  way  to  it ;  it  is  not  gold  that  glitters,  perhaps,  but  it  is 
genuine  metal  for  all  that.' 

'  Why,  Aunt  Di,  you  are  praising  her  now.' 

'  Of  course  I  am  praising  her  ;  I  am  only  finding  fault  with  her 
handwriting  and  her  manners.  Cultivate  a  pleasing  manner,  Alison  ; 
you  have  no  idea  how  valuable  a  commodity  it  is ;  it  is  worth  half 
the  world's  wares  ;  people  will  not  always  take  the  trouble  to  dig 
below  the  surface,  they  prefer  judging  from  the  outer  appearance. 
Now  about  poor  Miss  Leigh,  your  worthy  governess  and  factotum.' 


12  AUNT  DIANA. 

'  Oh,  she  is  not  the  last,  Aunt  Di — at  least,  to  me.* 

'  Never  mind,  don't  interrupt  me.  I  am  in  the  mood  for  moralising, 
and  you  are  certainly  not  in  the  mood  for  reading  your  letters.  If 
she  be  not  necessary  to  you,  The  Holms  would  rue  her  absence.' 

'I  do  not  think  we  are  any  of  us  very  fond  of  her,'  interposed 
Alison  hurriedly.  *  I  know  she  fidgets  father  dreadfully,  and  Roger, 
too,  though  he  is  so  good  to  her.' 

'  Roger  is  good  to  every  one  but  himself,'  responded  Miss  Carring- 
ton  ;  '  but  even  he,  with  all  his  good  nature,  has  owned  to  me  that 
Miss  Leigh  has  a  very  trying  manner.  You  see,  Alison,  fussy  people 
make  poor  companions.  Miss  Leigh  has  never  leisure  for  anything 
but  her  own  worries  ;  she  is  too  overweighted  for  cheerful  conver- 
sation;  if  she  could  forget  Poppie's  misdemeanours,  and  Missie's 
pertness,  and  Rudel's  roughness,  and  the  servants'  failures  for  about 
half  an  hour  at  a  time,  I  could  quite  fancy  Miss  Leigh  a  pleasing 
companion ;  but  now  let  me  hear  her  letter.' 


CHAPTER    II. 

WHAT   MISS    LEIGH    SAID. 

'  "W't  is  dreadfully  long,'  sighed  Alison,  as  she  reluctantly  obeyed. 
It  was  evident  that  she  wished  Miss  Cariington  to  read  the 
letters  for  herself,  but  Aunt  Diana  held  a  different  opinion. 

*  My  dear  Alison,'  it  began,  *  I  am  afraid  that  my  weekly 
account  will  be  little  more  cheering  than  the  last ;  indeed,  I  am 
arriving  slowly  at  the  conviction  that,  unless  some  change  be  made 
in  the  household  arrangements,  I  shall  be  compelled,  however  re- 
luctantly, to  resign  my  post.' 

*  Humph  !  that  looks  bad,'  from  Miss  Carrington. 
'  I  have  done  all  I  can  in  representing  to  your  father  the  mischief 
that  must  result  from  his  injudicious  treatment  of  Mabel ;  she  is 
becoming  so  thoroughly  spoiled,  so  entirely  her  own  mistress,  that 
no  amount  of  reasoning  has  any  effect  upon  her.  I  do  not  wish  to 
lay  any  undue  stress  on  her  behaviour  to  myself ;  but  her  treatment 
of  Mr.  Roger,  and  the  bad  example  that  she  sets  to  Poppie,  not  to 
mention  the  constant  bickering  that  is  always  going  on  between  her 
and  Rudel,  are  quite  destroying  the  harmony  of  the  household. 
Your  dear  father  will  not  understand  how  much  of  this  mischief  may 
be  laid  to  his  over-indulgence  of  Mabel ;  he  lets  her  have  her  own 
way  in  everything,  and  laughs  at  her  little  airs  and  graces  instead  of 
checking  them  ;  latterly  she  has  coaxed  him  to  allow  her  to  take  the 
head  of  the  table,  and,  what  is  worse,  she  has  several  times  contra- 
dicted me  to  my  face,  and  set  aside  the  orders  that  I  have  given  in 
the  house  ;  the  servants  have  more  than  once  complained  of  her 
interference,  and,  in  fact,  I  have  had  to  bear  a  great  deal  of  grum- 
bling from  Nanny.  You  may  imagine,  my  dear  Alison,  how  trying 
all  this  is  to  a  person  of  my  sensitive  temperament ;  ever  smce  I  have 
lived  at  The  Holms  I  have  tried  to  merit  the  trust  reposed  in  me  by 
your  dear  parents.  Your  father  was  good  enough  once  to  say  that 
he  had  the  utmost  confidence  in  my  principles  and  mode  of  tuition ; 


14  AUNT  DIANA. 

he  has  ceased  to  express  himself  now  much  on  any  subject.  I  think 
business  is  harassing  him,  for  he  looks  jaded  and  careworn,  and  poor 
Mr.  Roger  seems  out  of  spirits. 

'  I  always  said  it  was  a  black  day  for  us  when  Miss  Carrington 
took  you  away  from  The  Holms.  With  all  due  deference  to  your 
aunt's  benevolence  and  good  feelings — for  I  have  the  highest  respect 
for  her  judgment — I  cannot  help  thinking  that  a  daughter's  place  is 
with  her  widowed  father.  If  you  had  remained  with  us,  Alison, 
Mabel  would  never  have  usurped  your  rightful  place ;  and  though 
I  do  not  recollect  you  were  much  of  a  manager — young  people 
seldom  are— still,  Mr.  Roger  seemed  happier,  and  Rudel  was  not 
quite  so  rough. 

'  You  will  say  I  am  writing  a  complaining  letter,  but  things  have 
come  to  such  a  pass  that  I  do  not  feel  myself  competent  to  fill  such 
a  harassing  post  any  longer.  Of  course  you  will  talk  the  matter 
over  with  your  aunt,  and  perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  assist  me  to 
some  solution  of  our  difficulties.  If  Miss  Carrington  knows  of  some 
suitable  person,  perhaps  she  would  kindly  mention  it  to  me.  Of 
course  it  is  hard,  after  eight  years  of  faithful  service,  to  have  to  seek 
a  new  situation,  but  we  all  have  our  feelings,  and  mine  are  outraged 
to  such  an  extent  that  1  begin  to  long  for  a  little  peace  and  quiet. 
Poppie  sends  her  love  ;  she  would  be  a  tolerably  good  girl  if  Mabel 
would  leave  her  alone. 

*  I  remain,  dear  Alison, 

'  Your  affectionate  friend, 

'  Patience  Leigh.* 

*  Patience  has  changed  to  impatience,'  muttered  Miss  Carrington, 
grimly.  *  Sensitive  people  never  own  to  being  out  of  temper,  but  I 
should  have  said  myself  that  there  was  a  spice  of  ill-temper  in  that 
letter.     Poor  Miss  Leigh  is  decidedly  ruffled.' 

'She  never  could  manage  Missie;  I  always  knew  that,' returned 
Alison  sorrowfully. 

'  And  how  old  is  Mabel,  or  Missie  as  you  call  her  ? ' 

'Sixteen  last  birthday.  Aunt  Diana.' 

'  Humph  !  there  is  not  a  more  troublesome  age.  She  is  a  woman- 
child,  if  you  know  what  that  is  ;  a  sort  of  hybrid  creature, — some- 
thing of  both  and  with  the  faults  of  both  ;  they  have  got  their  armour, 
but  they  "  have  not  proved  it."  ' 

'  Missie  thinks  herself  quite  grown-up,  Aunt  Di.' 


WHAT  MISS   LEIGH   SAID.  1 5 

'  So  do  we ;  but  how  the  angels  must  laugh  at  us,  and  the  poor, 
pitiful  mistakes  we  grown-up  children  make,  just  as  you  and  I  would 
laugh  at  Missie  !' 

*  I  am  afraid  I  should  be  too  angry  to  laugh,'  returned  Alison. 

'  That  would  be  good  ammunition  wasted.  I  would  as  soon  be 
angry  with  a  monkey  for  trying  to  copy  its  master.  Mabel  imagines 
herself  grown-up,  and  having  no  good  model  of  womanhood  before 
her  eyes,  except  Miss  Leigh's  sad  countenance,  has  invented  a 
character  for  herself.  Do  you  think  her  dresses  are  like  yours, 
Ailie  ? ' 

Alison  shook  her  head  doubtfully ;  she  was  evidently  too  heavy  of 
heart  to  jest. 

'  It  will  never  do  to  let  Miss  Leigh  go,'  she  observed  presently. 

*  Oh,  no,  certainly  not ;  a  gold  mine  is  valuable.  Even  if  one  has 
to  blunder  a  little  in  finding  an  entrance,  one  would  like  to  keep  it 
in  the  family.  Suppose  you  let  me  hear  the  contents  of  Rudel's 
letter,  and  after  that  we  can  talk  if  you  like.'  And  again  Alison 
obeyed : — 

'  My  dear  old  Alison, — I  always  said  it  was  a  jolly  shame  that 
Aunt  Diana  kidnapped  you.  We  have  never  been  comfortable 
since,  and  we  never  shall  be  ;  but  what's  the  use  of  grumbling  ?  as 
the  cat  said  to  the  dog  when  he  had  a  bare  bone  to  gnaw.  It  will 
be  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence.  By  the  bye,  how  is  Trip  ?  I 
have  got  a  jolly  little  animal  of  my  own  now, — an  otter  terrier, — and 
we  call  her  Otter ;  she  is  the  most  knowing  little  creature,  and  so 
affectionate,  only  Missie  hates  her,  because  she  sets  on  to  her  cat. 
Of  course  I  edge  her  on  to  it ;  it  is  such  fun  to  see  Joe  spitting  and 
sneezing,  with  his  back  like  a  railway-arch,  and  his  tail  swelling 
visibly,  and  Missie  stamping  and  scolding  and  longing  to  box  Otter's 
ears,  only  she  dare  not,  because  I  should  box  hers.  It  is  rare  fun, 
I  can  tell  you.  I  have  got  a  jackdaw,  too, — such  a  beauty  !  and  I 
call  him  Sulky.  He  is  so  tame  that  he  will  follow  us  all  over  the  gar- 
den, and  into  the  timber  yqjd  when  the  men  are  not  working.  It  is 
so  funny  to  see  him  hopping  after  one,  with  a  sort  of  jump  and  skip, 
with  his  head  on  one  side,  as  though  he  were  not  taking  any  notice 
of  us,  when  all  the  time  he  was  cocking  his  little  black  eye  at  Otter. 

'  If  it  were  not  for  Otter  and  Sulky  I  could  not  put  up  with 
things  much  longer,  they  are  so  horrid.  Miss  Leigh  is  bonier  than 
ever,  and  she  sighs  so  much  that  Roger  is  obliged  to  shut  the  door 
during  mealtimes  because  of  the  draught. 


1 6  AUNT  DIANA. 

'  Poor  old  Roger  is  down  in  the  mouth,  too ;  father  is  always 
pitching  into  him  for  something  or  other.  Last  week  there  was  a 
lot  said  about  a  consignment  of  timber  that  had  gone  wrong.  Father 
declared  Roger  was  to  blame  ;  but  I  dont  believe  it ;  the  poor  old 
fellow  could  scarcely  touch  his  luncheon,  he  was  so  worried  and  put 
about ;  and  then  Missie  would  keep  on  aggravating  him  when  father 
had  gone  out  of  the  room  :  "  Mr.  Fergusson  told  father  that  you  had 
mistaken  your  vocation,  and  that  you  would  never  make  a  good 
business  man."  Actually  the  little  monkey  had  the  cheek  to  say 
that  to  him  ;  if  I  had  been  Roger  I  should  have  boxed  her  ears.' 

'  Rudel  seems  rather  fond  of  that  mode  of  chastisement,'  observed 
Miss  Carrington  ;  '  young  ladies  do  not  have  their  ears  boxed ;  you 
had  better  inform  Master  Rudel  of  that  fact.' 

'  He  used  not  to  be  so  rough,  Aunt  Di ;  he  is  such  a  dear  boy ; 
but  you  see  things  are  at  sixes  and  sevens  just  now.  Poor  Roger ! 
I  wish  he  had  Rudel's  spirit.' 

And  then  she  went  on  :  — 

'  Missie  takes  the  head  of  the  table.  The  coffee  is  terribly  bad, 
and  always  cold  ;  but  as  father  drinks  cocoa,  we  have  no  redress. 
Nanny  and  Sarah  look  crosser  every  day.  They  tell  Miss  Leigh 
that  two  mistresses  are  upsetting  at  their  time  of  life  ;  and  no 
wonder,  for  they  must  be  a  hundred  between  them.  I  think  father 
is  ill  or  something,  for  he  is  as  glum  as  possible ;  but  there,  no 
more  at  present,  from  your  affectionate  and  deeply  worried  brother, 

'  Rudel. 

*  P.S. — Poppie  is  crying  because  Missie  has  just  ordered  her  to 
bed,  and  Miss  Leigh  promised  that  she  might  sit  up  to  see  Roger. 
Poppie  vowed  she  would  not  move.  It  ended,  as  it  mostly  does,  by 
Missie  taking  her  by  the  shoulders  and  turning  her  into  the  passage. 
Miss  Leigh  went  after  Poppie,  but  she  did  not  bring  her  back. 
Missie  scored  there.' 

*  Oh,  Aunt  Di,  can't  you  just  see  it  allH' 

'  Well,  child,  it  does  not  need  a  telescope ;  if  only  your  father 
would  shut  up  his  books  and  study  his  children  instead.  But  there, 
there  are  other  people  besides  the  immortal  Mrs.  Jelleby  who  can- 
not see  nearer  than  Africa.' 

'  Dear  Aunt  Di,  won't  you  put  away  your  palette  and  brushes  ? ' 
very  coaxingly. 

'  What,  before  I've  finished  my  tree  shadows  ?      My  painting  will 


WHAT  MISS  LEIGH  SAID.  I9 

not  hinder  your  talking,  and  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  my 
hearing,  I  am  thankful  to  say.' 

*  But,  Aunt  Di,  I  have  something  very  serious  to  say.  These 
letters  came  two  or  three  hours  ago,  and  I  have  been  thinking  about 
them  ever  since.' 

'  I  hope  you  went  on  with  little  Sallie's  frock,  then  ;  working  with 
one's  fingers  helps  thinking.'  But  though  Miss  Carrington  spoke  in 
jest,  her  eyes  watched  the  girl  a  little  anxiously. 

*  Oh,  I  could  not  work ;  I  was  far  too  miserable,  Aunt  Diana.  I 
do  believe  Miss  Leigh  is  right  in  what  she  says,  and  that  I  am  shirk- 
ing my  duty.' 

'  Since  when  ?  '  a  little  dryly. 

*  Since  I  got  quite  well  and  strong  and  happy,  about  a  year  ago,' 
returned  Alison,  answering  most  literally.  '  I  ought  to  have  gone 
back  then,  and  not  have  stopped  on  here  quietly,  taking  the  good  of 
everything,  and  enjoying  myself,  just  as  though  I  had  no  duties,  and 
no  place  in  life.  It  is  all  my  fault  if  Missie  is  getting  the  upper 
hand,  and  making  every  one  uncomfortable.' 

An  uncompromising  '  humph '  from  Miss  Carrington  was  all 
Alison's  answer  to  this.  The  girl's  colour  varied  a  little,  and  she 
went  on  more  nervously, — 

*  You  were  quite  right  to  take  me  away,  Aunt  Di,  whatever  Miss 
Leigh  says,  and  I  think  I  was  right  to  go.' 

'  Well,  two  rights  won't  make  one  wrong,'  was  the  quizzing  response; 
but  Alison  held  on  to  her  point  somewhat  unsteadily. 

'  I  was  not  well ;  I  was  all  jarred  and  miserable,  and  not  a  bit  of 
good  to  any  one.' 

'An  overgrown  girl,  in  fact,'  annotated  Miss  Carrington,  sotto  voce. 

'  I  was  always  crying  or  cross,  and  wondering  what  was  the  matter 
with  me,  and  then  you  came  like  a  good  angel,  and  brought  me  to 

this  dear  place, — and '     Here  Alison's  lip  quivered.     'Now  I  do 

love  it,  and  you  too.  Aunt  Di.' 

Miss  Carrington  smiled  benevolently ;  she  was  not  a  demonstra- 
tive woman,  but  it  was  evident  that  this  frank  expression  of  affection 
pleased  her ;  but  her  reply  was  as  usual  somewhat  matter-of-fact. 

'  All  young  people  like  sunshine  and  roses,  and  you  get  plenty  of 
them  here  ;  you  and  your  roses,  too,  were  rather  smoke-dried  at  The 
Holms.  I  will  say  this  for  you,  Alison,  that  these  two  years  have 
not  been  wasted.' 

'  How  do  you  mean  ? '  somewhat  eagerly. 


20  AUNT  DIANA. 

*  I  flatter  myself  that  we  have  both  grown  a  h'ttle.  Now  don't 
laugh,  Ailie,  because  you  are  a  wise  child,  and  can  look  round  the 
corner  quicker  than  most  people.  I  do  hate  to  stop  and  explain  the 
meaning  of  my  odd  speeches  ;  it  is  almost  as  bad  as  if  1  had  to 
write  on  this  picture  "  This  is  a  tree,  a  man,"  and  so  on.' 

*  If  you  mean  that  I  am  improved,'  returned  Alison  modestly,  *  it 
makes  me  very  happy  to  hear  it;  but  I  owe  it  all  to  you  and  Mr. 
Moore.' 

'  We  will  each  receive  our  dues,'  with  a  funny  little  smile  ;  '  we  will 
not  take  for  a  monent  into  consideration  that  our  pupil  has  been 
willing,  and  industrious,  and  teachable.  You  need  not  flush,  Ailie  ; 
a  little  praise  does  no  harm,  it  just  oils  the  wheels  and  prevents  them 
dragging.  You  have  not  reached  perfection  yet,  neither  have  I,  but 
1  have  a  comfortable  sort  of  assurance  that  we  are  both  trying  hard 
to  break  ourselves  of  our  faults,  and — I  wish  you  would  let  me  go  on 
painting  now,  you  very  troublesome  child.' 

'  Aunt  Di,  I  really  do  not  want  to  tease  you,  but  I  have  made  up 
my  mind — at  least,  it  has  come  suddenly  into  my  head — that  I  ought 
to  put  all  these  pleasant  things  away,  and  go  home  to  father  and 
Roger.' 

*  Pourquoi,  mademoiselle  ? '  Though  she  spoke  lightly,  a  shadow 
crossed  Miss  Carrington's  face ;  but  Alison  did  not  see  it. 

*  I  am  eighteen  now ;  in  some  sense  I  may  be  said  to  have  finished 
my  education,  though  I  hope  to  go  on  learning  all  my  life.  I  am 
quite  strong,  at  least  as  strong  as  I  ever  shall  be,  for  I  do  not  think 
I  am  quite  a  giant.  Aunt  Di,  and  I  am  not  half  so  afraid  of  things.' 

*  You  have  ceased  to  start  at  your  own  shadow.  Well,  well,  I  can 
endorse  that;  but  how  about  your  love  of  comfort  ?  I  have  you  there, 
little  Sybarite.' 

Alison  pouted.  *  I  can't  bear  you  to  call  me  that.  Is  it  wrong  to 
like  pretty  things,  and  to  make  oneself  comfortable  ? ' 

*  Humph,  it  belongs  to  the  class  of  venial  sins  ;  but  this  trait  or 
failing,  or  whatever  a  moralist  might  choose  to  call  it,  will  certainly 
unfit  you  for  The  Holms.     My  training  will  hardly  avail  there,  Ailie.' 

Alison  was  silent  a  moment  from  sheer  pain.  Was  not  Aunt 
Diana  right  ?  Did  not  these  two  peaceful  years  spent  at  Moss-side 
— in  its  atmosphere  of  refinement,  culture,  and  congenial  society — 
unfit  her  still  more  completely  for  the  noisier  and  disorderly  elements 
of  her  own  home?  Might  not  she  do  more  harm  than  good,  bring 
ing  her  young  undisciplined  forces  to  bear  on  such  a  state  of  things  ? 


WHAT  MISS   LEIGH  SAID.  2t 

Was  it  really  her  duty  to  interfere,  and  might  not  Aunt  Diana  miss 
her  too,  badly?  Tliis  last  thought  made  her  voice  very  i)laintive. 
*  I  do  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  think,  Aunt  Di ;  I  have  not 
been  quite  happy  in  my  mind  for  weeks.  If  Miss  Leigh  goes,  what 
will  become  of  Poppie  ?  And  then  it  is  so  bad  for  the  boys  to  have 
their  home  so  uncomfortable.' 

'  Are  you  quite  sure  you  would  not  add  to  the  discomfort,  Alison  ? ' 
very  gravely. 

'  That  is  what  I  want  to  find  out.  It  will  be  such  a  terrible  piece  of 
self-sacrifice ;  and  then  if  it  were  to  be  wasted,'  and  here  Alison's  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  '  I  don't  believe  you  know  how  fond  I  am  of  you. 
Aunt  Di,  and  how  necessary  you  are  to  my  happiness,  and  the  idea 
of  leaving  you  and  going  back  to  them  all  seems  too  dreadful.' 

'  Unfortunately  I  am  to  be  the  victim  of  your  self-sacrifice.  I 
think  I  shall  have  to  write  an  article  on  the  woes  of  aunts.  I  thought 
you  were  my  child,  Alison,  and  that  you  were  going  to  remain  to 
cheer  my  old  age,  but  now  it  appears  that  I  am  to  be  a  solitary ' 

This  was  too  much  for  Alison.  She  was  already  in  the  nervous 
overwrought  state  that  comes  from  too  heavy  a  pressure.  At  Miss 
Carrington's  reply,  half-reproachful  and  half-tender,  her  head  drooped 
on  her  hands,  and  the  tears  began  to  trickle  through  her  fingers.  *  I 
do  not  believe  that  I  can  ever  do  it ;  it  is  far  too  hard,'  she  sobbed. 
'  I  can  never  go  away  from  you  of  my  own  will,  Aunt  Di.' 

There  was  no  immediate  answer  to  this,  but  in  another  moment 
Miss  Carrington  had  walked  to  her  slowly,  and  then,  standing  beside 
her,  her  hand  stroked  the  girl's  hair  with  a  mute  caressing  gesture. 
'  Do  not  cry  about  it,  Ailie,'  she  said  presently  ;  but  her  own  voice 
was  not  quite  so  clear  as  usual.  *  It  is  not  a  thing  to  be  decided  in 
a  hurry  ;  we  must  look  at  it  all  round;  impulse  is  never  a  sure  guide. 
No  one  is  quite  their  own  mistress  even  at  eighteen,  and  I  am  afraid 
you  will  have  to  ask  my  leave,  unless  you  prefer  running  away.' 

*  Oh,  will  you  let  me  go,  Aunt  Di  ? '  with  a  sudden  start  of  joy,  as 
though  the  knots  that  her  conscience  had  tied  were  suddenly  cut 
through  in  a  most  unexpected  way. 

'  My  dear,  if  it  be  right  I  will  help  you  to  go,'  was  the  expressive 
but  somewhat  curt  answer  to  this  ;  but  as  she  spoke  Miss  Carring- 
ton's hands  pressed  the  girl's  head  a  little  heavily. 

'  Now,'  she  continued,  with  a  visible  effort,  '  we  must  put  all 
these  troublesome  things  away  for  the  present ;  there  is  the  dressing 
bell,  and  we  have  only  time  to  get  ready  for  dinner,  and  you  know  it 


22  AUNT  DIANA. 

is  our  evening  at  Fernleigh,  and  we  shall  have  to  be  cheerful  for  Mr. 
Moore's  sake.' 

*  Oh,  Aunt  Di,  you  know  that  it  is  impossible.' 

*  Nonsense,  nothing  is  impossible.  We  ought  to  keep  our  own 
dust  for  our  own  shelves,  and  not  sprinkle  other  folks  with  our 
worries.  To-night  you  must  be  cheerful,  for  Mr.  Moore's  sake,  and 
to-morrow  is  my  Wednesday,  and  you  do  not  mean  to  damp  my 
garden-party,  I  hope.  You  are  young,  my  dear,  or  you  would  learn 
to  pocket  your  troubles  until  they  may  safely  see  the  light.  Never 
mind,  I  mean  to  set  you  a  noble  example,  and  there  is  one  of  your 
favourite  crimson  roses  to  wear.'  And  putting  the  flower  into  the  girl's 
hand,  she  kissed  her  lightly  between  her  eyes,  and  then  busied  herself 
in  putting  up  her  palette  and  brushes  for  the  next  day's  work. 


CHAPTER   III. 

*WE'd   BEITER   BIDE  A  WEE.* 

N  hour  and  a  half  later  Miss  Carrington  and  her  niece  were 
walking  quickly  down  one  of  the  garden  paths  until  they  came 
to  a  little  gate  set  in  the  hedge ;  unlatching  it,  they  passed 
into  a  neighbouring  garden,  and  then  turned  their  faces  in  the 
direction  of  a  low  white  house,  with  a  verandah  running  all  round 
it,  and  roses  in  profusion  running  over  it.  As  they  did  so,  the  notes 
of  a  violin,  evidently  played  by  a  practised  hand,  reached  them. 
Miss  Carrington's  face  brightened,  and,  making  a  gesture  to  her 
companion  to  move  softly,  she  stepped  up  to  a  window  and  looked 
through  it.  The  room,  if  it  were  a  drawing-room,  was  almost  as 
heterogeneously  furnished  as  her  own,  but  it  bore  the  character 
of  a  library.  Two  of  the  walls  were  lined  with  book-cases  ;  a  grand 
piano  and  a  harmonium  occupied  some  of  the  space ;  there  was  a 
round  table  littered  with  books,  and  a  superfluity  of  easy-chairs  in 
every  stage  of  comfort,  arranged  more  with  a  view  to  ease  than 
appearance.  A  nearer  inspection  would  have  pointed  out  certain 
bachelor  arrangements — some  costly  Turkish  pipes ;  a  pair  of  pistols, 
splendidly  mounted;  some  silver  cups  and  tankards,  with  various  in- 
scriptions on  them,  all  engraved  with  the  name  of  Greville  Moore, 
and  purporting  to  be  certain  prizes  in  the  half-mile  race,  the  high 
jump,  throwing  the  cricket  ball,  and  other  feats  of  prowess,  performed 
by  some  youthful  athlete. 

Although  it  was  summer  and  all  three  windows  were  open,  a 
pleasant  little  fire  burned  cheerily,  to  the  evident  enjoyment  of 
a  noble  black  collie  that  lay  stretched  luxuriously  on  the  bear- 
skin rug. 

An  elderly  man,  with  a  long  white  beard  and  moustache,  in  a 
black  velvet  coat,  sat  with  his  back  to  the  light,  playing  the  violin. 
His  face,  seen  in  repose,  was  clear  cut  and  handsome,  in  spite  of  the 
deep  lines  that  time  and  perhaps  many  cares  had  traced  upon  it ; 


24  AUNT  DIANA. 

but  his  eyes  were  cast  down,  as  though  in  deep  meditation,  an  habitual 
action,  for  Mr.  Moore  had  been  blind  half  his  life. 

He  was  playing  from  memory  an  exquisite  fugue  from  Bach.  The 
thin,  somewhat  wrinkled  hand  handled  the  bow  with  a  precision,  a 
delicacy,  a  masterly  knowledge,  that  seemed  surprising  in  his  situa- 
tion. Apparently  he  was  lost  himself  in  enjoyment  of  the  sweet 
sounds  that  he  had  conjured  up  in  his  darkness,  for  a  smile  played 
round  his  lips  as  the  harmony  widened  and  vibrated,  and  his  foot 
softly  moved,  as  though  in  unison.  The  collie  turned  its  head  lazily 
as  Miss  Carrington  seated  herself  within  a  few  feet  of  the  musician ; 
probably  he  would  have  risen  to  greet  her,  but  she  held  up  a 
warning  hand. 

Alison,  much  amused,  followed  her  example.  She  had  Trip  in  her 
arms,  but  the  little  animal  gave  her  a  good  deal  of  trouble  ;  he  was 
not  as  perfectly  trained  as  the  collie,  not  having  arrived  at  the  age 
of  discretion.  He  wanted  to  get  down  and  investigate  his  old 
friend  Keeper  and  secure  a  bit  of  rug  for  himself,  and  uttered  a 
protesting  whine  when  his  mistress  refused  to  let  him  go.  In  a 
moment  the  fugue  was  ended  and  the  bow  lowered. 

'  Is  that  you,  Sunny  ?  Little  witch,  why  have  you  stolen  a  march 
on  the  blind  man  ?    Of  course  you  have  flown  through  the  window.' 

'Aunt  Diana  set  me  the  example,'  returned  Alison  demurely. 
'  How  do  you  do,  again,  Mr.  Moore  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  nicely,  nicely ;  time  always  passes  quickly  with  me  in  my 
own  special  world.  Have  you  given  your  aunt  her  favourite  chair? 
How  does  the  picture  progress,  Miss  Diana  ?  Sunny  tells  me  it  is 
one  of  your  best.' 

'  Would  you  have  me  praise  my  own  work  ? '  returned  Miss  Car- 
rington brightly.  '  I  must  leave  you  to  Alison's  criticism.  I  hope 
to  do  something  good  before  I  die,  and  if  I  do  not  succeed,  well, 
my  life  will  have  been  happier  for  the  trying.  Do  you  comprehend 
me,  my  good  friend  ? ' 

*  Ay,  I  can  feel  out  a  meaning  there,'  he  rephed,  a  little  quaintly, 
as  he  stooped  to  pat  Keeper's  head.  'You  and  I  think  alike  on 
most  subjects,  don't  we,  Miss  Diana?  We  both  hold  that  work 
and  life  have  been  synonymous  terms,  since  Adam  delved  and  Eve 
span.' 

'I  don't  believe  in  any  life  without  it,'  was  the  concise  reply 
to  this. 

'  Well,  it  takes  all  sorts  of  people  to  make  up  a  world.     I  have 


•we'd  better  bide  a  wee.'  25 

long  ago  divided  society  into  two  classes — people  who  work,  and 
people  who  prefer  to  have  their  work  done  by  other  folk.  There 
are  men,  and  women  too,  who  like  to  drift  anyhow  through  life,  and 
who  grumble  if  some  other  oarsman  does  not  put  back  the  duck- 
weed for  them.  Why,  they  would  positively  run  aground,  rather 
than  propel  themselves ;  but  my  boy  is  not  one  of  them,  I  am 
thankful  to  say.' 

*  Nor  Alison  either.  By  the  bye,  Mr.  Moore,  how  does  your  pupil 
progress  ? ' 

'Oh,  Sunny  is  a  fair  scholar,'  replied  the  old  man,  putting  out  his 
hand  till  it  rested  on  Alison's  soft  hair.  '  She  does  me  credit,  Miss 
Diana ;  she  is  a  good  child — a  very  good  child.' 

'Aunt  Diana,'  interrupted  Alison,  as  though  to  evade  further 
praise,  '  we  did  such  a  famous  morning's  work.  I  had  my  music 
lesson — quite  a  long  one — and  then  I  did  my  Latin,  and  read 
Green's  History  of  England  for  more  than  an  hour.' 

'Then  no  wonder  you  felt  entitled  to  a  whole  afternoon's  idleness,' 
was  the  somewhat  quizzical  rejjly  to  this.  AHson's  pained,  'Oh, 
Aunt  Di ! '  held  a  world  of  reproach  in  it.  It  did  not  escape  Mr. 
Moore's  notice.  His  other  senses  were  exquisitely  acute,  and  he 
had  trained  them  to  good  purpose. 

'  What  is  all  that,  Miss  Diana  ?  No  one  finds  fault  with  Sunny  in 
my  presence.  By  the  bye,  little  sunbeam,  there  is  a  cloud  some- 
where ;  I  can  read  voices  as  I  can  my  violin,  and  there  is  a  loose 
string.  I'll  be  bound  something  has  gone  wrong  in  your  little 
world  ;  hasn't  it,  dear  ? ' 

'Alison  shall  tell  you  another  time,  Mr.  Moore;  we  neither  of  us 
care  about  airing  our  worries  to-night.  Do  you  remember  what  old 
Mrs.  Marsh  used  to  say — "  Think  of  your  words  before  you  speak 
them "  ?  I  have  improvised  another  proverb  for  Alison's  benefit : 
"  Never  air  your  worry  before  it  is  twenty-four  hours  old  "  ;  in  other 
words,  go  to  sleep  on  it,  and  when  you  wake  it  will  probably  have 
shrunk  to  half  its  size.' 

'  Ah,  ah  !  very  good !  That  is  so  like  you,  Miss  Diana.  Well,  if 
we  are  to  let  things  alone,  suppose  Sunny  reads  Greville's  letter  to 
you.  The  lad  is  in  high  spirits ;  he  is  captain  now,  and  he  is  full 
of  his  matches  and  the  splendid  team  they  have  got.  He  declares 
Queen's  will  beat  half  the  other  colleges.' 

'  Commemoration  will  be  here  directly,'  observed  Miss  Carrington. 

'Yes,  but  he  is  not  coming  home  for  another  five  weeks,  at  least 


26  AUNT  DIANA. 

to  stay ;  his  tutor  has  written  to  me  this  morning,  and  I  have  given 
my  consent  to  Greville's  joining  his  reading  party  to  Keswick ;  the 
lad  is  a  good  lad,  but  he  is  young  and  a  bit  idle ;  at  least,  his  love 
of  fun  carries  him  away,  and  I  am  afraid  he  has  not  worked  quite 
hard  enough.' 

'  Mr.  Greville  is  not  fond  ot  putting  aside  his  own  duckweed,'  put 
in  Alison  mischievously ;  for  there  was  nothing  she  loved  better 
than  to  tease  the  old  man  about  his  grandson,  who  was  literally  the 
apple  of  his  eye. 

He  roused  up  directly  at  her  irony.  *  Come  now,  that  is  too  bad 
to  say  that  of  the  lad  when  he  fights  all  your  battles  for  you,  and 
never  lets  any  one  say  a  word  against  you.' 

*  She  does  not  mean  it,  Mr.  Moore,'  interposed  Miss  Carrington 
quickly. 

'  Now,  Aunt  Di,  please  don't  interfere.  I  do  mean  that  Mr. 
Greville  Moore  will  never  kill  himself  with  overwork,  unless  he  dies 
from  too  much  cricket  or  lawn  tennis.' 

*  You  naughty  child  ! '  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  fun  in  his 
voice  now.  '  I  shall  report  all  your  hard  speeches  to  Greville  when 
I  see  him ;  do  you  think  a  fine  young  man  is  to  slave  and  toil  all  his 
best  years  away  ?  A  little  harmless  fun  will  not  hurt  him ;  he  is 
strengthening  his  mind  and  his  muscles  at  the  same  time.' 

Alison  and  her  aunt  exchanged  amused  glances  at  this.  They 
both  thought  highly  of  the  young  man,  who  was  indeed  a  sweet- 
tempered,  honest  fellow,  with  plenty  of  good  in  him,  though  hardly 
up  to  Miss  Carrington's  idea  of  '  thorough ' ;  indeed,  he  was  a 
favourite  with  most  people ;  but  it  was  droll  and  at  the  same  time 
almost  touching  to  see  Mr.  Moore's  implicit  faith  in  his  grandson, 
who  was  verily  the  old  man's  Benoni  and  Benjamin — 'the  son  of 
his  sorrow ' — as  well  as  the  '  son  of  his  right  hand.' 

If  Mr.  Moore  had  been  questioned  about  his  life,  he  would  most 
surely  have  answered  in  Jacob's  words  that  *  few  and  evil  had  been 
his  days,'  for  few  men  had  experienced  greater  vicissitudes.  His 
earlier  manhood  had  opened  with  brilliant  prospects  of  happiness — 
health  had  been  his,  and  fortune  also — his  talents  had  been  cultivated 
and  yielded  him  vast  resources  of  enjoyment,  and  his  domestic  life 
had  been  truly  blessed.  His  wife  was  in  every  respect  his  helpmeet 
and  support,  and  the  little  son  that  prattled  baby  nonsense  at  his 
knee  was  scarcely  less  dear  to  him. 

Then  after  a  time  the  black  cloud  darkened  his  horizon  j  blindness 


*we'd  better  bide  a  wee.'  2f 

in  its  most  hopeless  and  scathing  form  fell  upon  him.  Not  gradu- 
ally and  with  slow  approaches,  changing  from  twilight  into  night, 
but  suddenly  as  the  result  of  an  accident ;  and  for  a  time  the  man 
sat  down  utterly  dismayed,  and  something  like  despair  took  posses- 
sion of  him.  But  his  wife  was  yet  spared  to  him,  and  it  was  her 
soft  ministering  hand,  her  simple  faith  and  unflinching  courage,  that 
roused  him  from  his  brooding  sadness,  and  setting  him  face  to  face 
with  the  inevitable,  bade  him  be  of  good  comfort  for  the  sake  of 
God's  dear  love  and  her  own. 

•  Gerard,  we  must  bear  this  trouble  that  our  Father  has  sent.  Do 
not  make  it  too  hard  for  me  to  say,  "  His  will  be  done."  I  will  be 
eyes  to  you,  and  hands,  you  shall  never  miss  what  I  can  give  you,' 
whispered  the  faithful  creature;  and  to  the  day  of  her  death  she 
nobly  fulfilled  her  work. 

Black  as  the  day  that  saw  his  blindness  was  the  hour  when  his 
good  angel  left  him  for  a  brighter  world.  His  son  had  reached 
manhood  then,  and  very  soon  after  that  dear  mother's  death  he  had 
brought  home  his  young  wife,  that  he  and  his  father  might  no  longer 
lack  the  comfort  of  womanly  ministry. 

For  a  little  while — for  three  short  years — there  was  peace  in  the 
little  household  of  Gerard  Moore.  Then  fever  came.  In  one  brief 
month  the  younger  Gerard  and  his  wife  lay  side  by  side  in  the  Uttle 
churchyard  at  Riverston,  leaving  their  infant  son  in  his  grandfather's 
care. 

Since  then  the  old  man  and  the  boy  had  lived  together.  To 
Greville  Mr.  Moore  had  transferred  the  love  he  had  once  lavished 
on  his  father.  Under  his  grandfather's  mild  and  loving  rule,  the  lad 
had  grown  up  honest  and  strong  and  fearless ;  not  book -loving 
perhaps,  and  a  little  simple  in  some  matters  as  concerns  this  world's 
usages,  but  on  the  whole  a  'good  lad,'  as  Mr.  Moore  called  him. 

'Aunt  Di,  I  do  think  Mr.  Moore  the  best  man  in  the  world,' 
observed  Alison,  as  she  lingered  in  the  moonlight  garden  on  their 
way  back  to  Moss-side. 

There  was  a  silvery  gleam  across  the  river,  and  a  little  boat  was 
rocking  in  it.  Miss  Carrington  stood  still,  as  though  watching  the 
effect. 

'He  is  a  very  wonderful  man,'  she  repeated  slowly.  ' I  am 
prouder  of  possessing  his  friendship  than  I  am  of  my  pretty  house 
and  garden  and  that  river  view,  though  I  am  tolerably  vain  of 
them  all.' 


28  AUNT  DIANA. 

'You  vain,  Aunt  Di ! ' 

'Well,  am  I  not  human,  and  a  woman;  have  not  the  best  of  us 
our  pet  vanities  ?  I  am  not  quite  so  strong-minded  as  you  wish  to 
make  me  out.  I  am  proud  both  for  you  and  myself  that  such  a 
man  as  Mr.  Moore  thinks  us  worthy  of  his  friendship.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  Ailie,  friendship  is  a  great  test.' 

'  How  do  you  mean  ? '  asked  Alison,  fixing  her  eyes  dreamily  on 
the  silver  ripples  that  seemed  full  of  phosphorescent  life. 

'  Nothing  stamps  a  man  or  a  woman  so  much  as  the  choice  of 
friends.  Many  a  life  is  made  or  marred  at  the  commencement  by  a 
wise  or  unwise  selection.  Most  of  us  are  mere  copyists,  and  we 
form  our  own  style  on  the  pattern  furnished  by  our  friends.  I  notice 
this  so  much  with  young  people ;  they  cannot  create  their  own 
atmosphere.  Most  of  us,  except  a  few  strong-minded  persons,  see 
with  other  people's  eyes.  How  necessary  then  that  those  eyes 
should  be  pure  and  far-sighted.' 

'  I  believe  you  are  right.  Aunt  Di.  I  always  feel  better  and 
stronger  somehow  when  I  am  with  you  and  Mr.  Moore,  than  when 
I  am  chattering  nonsense  with  Lettie  or  Dora  Morville ;  and  yet 
they  are  nice  girls,  and  I  enjoy  talking  to  them.' 

'  My  little  girl,'  returned  Aunt  Diana,  laying  her  firm,  cool  hand 
on  Alison's,  '  I  do  not  want  to  put  our  old  heads  on  your  young 
shoulders;  it  does  me  good  to  have  you  and  Letty  and  Dora  all 
twittering  together  like  young  birds  in  a  nest ;  we  must  all  have  our 
nonsense  talks,  even  we  middle-aged  people.  What  I  really  want 
is;'  and  here  she  paused  with  a  half  sigh,  as  though  some  fear  moved 
her;  'what  I  really  desire  is  to  see  you,  not  shining  with  any  bor- 
rowed light,  but  able  to  stand  on  your  own  feet,  and  look  round 
you  so  calmly,  that  you  may  discern  between  a  worthless  rushlight, 
a  will-o'-the-wisp,  and  the  steady  shining  of  the  torch  of  truth.  Don't 
you  recollect,  Ailie,  my  favourite  verse  ? — 

' '  First  take  heed  to  calm  and  still . 
All  thy  passions  and  thy  will ; 
Great  excitements  stop  or  fly, 
Nor  rufile  that  serenity 
Which  only  keeps  the  spirit  free 
Life's  hid  path  to  search  and  see.'" 

*  The  path  is  very  hidden  just  now,'  murmured  Alison,  in  a  choked 
voice. 

'  Then  "  we  must  bide  a  wee,"  and  put  by  brambles  one  by  one 


'we'd  better  bide  a  wee.'  29 

until  we  come  to  a  clear  opening.  I  do  not  think  we  shall  find  it 
quite  by  ourselves,  Ailie.' 

'  No,  indeed.  Aunt  Di.* 

*  We  must  just  do  with  our  doubts  and  difficulties  as  Hezekiah 
did  with  his  letter ;  there  is  no  other  way  of  lighting  our  candle  in 
the  darkness.  Now  run  out  of  the  dews,  child,  and  promise  me  one 
thing  before  you  go.  Take  no  troublesome  bed-fellow  with  you ; 
fold  up  the  worry  with  your  prayers  and  just  leave  it.  Good-night, 
my  dear.'  And  without  waiting  for  an  answer  Miss  Carringtoii 
moved  away  briskly  down  the  garden  walk ;  and  as  Alison  closed 
her  window  she  could  see  the  tall  hooded  figure  pacing  slowly  to 
and  fro  in  the  moonlight,  a  habit  of  hers  when  anything  had  made 
her  restless.  Evidently  the  difficulty  in  Miss  Carrington's  mind  was 
still  unsolved  when,  half  an  hour  later,  she  let  herself  into  the  house. 

'  I  will  ask  Mr.  Moore's  advice,'  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
lingered  in  the  dim  studio,  only  lighted  by  the  uncertain  rays  that 
penetrated  here  and  there ;  *  it  is  not  that  I  am  not  capable  of  the 
sacrifice,  but  I  believe  I  am  braver  for  myself  than  I  am  for  her. 
I  took  her  away  from  The  Holms  because  she  was  not  a  bit  fit  for 
the  life,  and  how  do  I  know  that  she  is  strong  enough  now  ?  Of 
course,  Mr.  Moore  will  have  his  litde  joke  about  "old  maids'  chil- 
dren"; of  course,  it  is  the  old  story  of  the  hen  and  the  duckling, 
the  hen  never  can  bear  her  nursling  to  wet  its  feet.  After  all,  it 
may  serve  as  a  valuable  discipline ;  it  will  test  the  girl,  and  show  it 
she  has  backbone  or  not ;  and,  of  course,  in  some  respects  it  may 
be  wiser  to  part  with  her  for  a  time.  Greville  will  be  coming  back, 
and '     But  here  Miss  Carrington  abruptly  paused. 

'  What  nonsense  !  We  need  not  cross  the  bridge  until  we  come 
to  it.  Come,  Trip,  old  fellow,  it  is  time  for  us  both  to  retire  ;'  and, 
with  the  terrier  beside  her.  Miss  Carrington  went  quickly  up  the 
dark  staircase,  just  listening  for  a  minute  at  Alison's  door,  to  be  sure 
that  she  was  asleep,  and  then  turned  into  her  own  room,  leaving 
Trip  to  investigate  his  cushioned  basket  in  search  of  a  concealed 
biscuit,  on  which  he  supped  leisurely  before  turning  round  three 
times,  and  curling  himself  into  a  brown  ball  until  morning.  If 
Miss  Carrington's  night  was  wakeful  and  somewhat  anxious,  she 
asked  and  desired  no  sympathy,  neither  did  she  question  Alison  on 
her  amount  of  sleep ;  such  questions  were  not  in  her  line. 

While  Alison  made  the  coffee  she  read  her  letters  and  gleaned 
items  of  general  interest  from  the  newspaper ;  then  the  conservatory 


30  AUNT  DIANA. 

was  visited,  the  various  pets  noticed  and  their  little  wants  supplied, 
and  afterwards  Alison  had  her  painting  lesson. 

When  this  was  finished,  she  left  Miss  Carrington  to  her  domestic 
business  and  her  beloved  work,  and  went  in  search  of  her  old  tutor. 

In  these  pleasant  tasks  the  mornings,  and  sometimes  an  hour  or 
two  of  the  afternoon,  passed  rapidly ;  then  she  and  Miss  Carrington 
either  gardened,  or  walked  out,  or  drove  in  the  little  basket-carriage. 
Sometimes  Alison  would  row  her  in  their  pretty  cushioned  boat  to 
a  little  island  that  they  much  affected,  and  sometimes  Mr.  Moore 
would  come  too. 

So  the  days  rippled  on  as  smoothly  and  pleasantly  as  the  river ; 
but  Miss  Leigh's  letter  was  still  unanswered,  and  in  Alison's  heart 
lay  a  rankling  fear,  which  did  not  this  time  take  the  form  of  words. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

GREVILLE  TAKES   AN   OAR. 

|EOPLE  said  Miss  Carrington's  Wednesdays  were  always  fine, 
that  she  had  better  fortune  in  that  respect  than  other  folk ; 
and  certainly  the  weather  favoured  her  on  this  occasion,  for  it 
was  the  very  perfection  of  a  June  afternoon,  with  plenty  of 
sunshine  and  freshness  to  mitigate  the  heat.  The  white 
butterflies  that  skimmed  over  the  lawn  scarcely  revelled  in  it  more 
than  Alison  did,  as  she  ran  lightly  over  the  grass  in  her  white  gown, 
with  a  breast-knot  of  her  favourite  roses,  and  her  shining  hair  half 
hidden  under  her  broad-brimmed  hat.  These  Wednesdays  were 
very  popular  in  the  neighbourhood.  Miss  Carrington  was  a  charm- 
ing hostess,  she  had  just  the  right  knack  of  entertaining  people; 
she  welcomed  them  heartily,  put  them  at  their  ease  with  themselves 
and  other  people,  then  left  them  to  be  as  free  as  her  own  butterflies. 
The  little  wicket  gate  between  Moss-side  and  Fernleigh  was  always 
set  open  on  these  occasions  ;  Miss  Carrington's  lawn  was  devoted 
to  lawn-tennis  ;  when  they  had  finished  their  game  the  young  people 
were  welcome  to  stroll  through  Mr.  Moore's  garden,  and  make  them- 
selves at  home  in  the  cosy  nooks  and  shady  seats  with  which  it 
abounded. 

Very  often  the  exquisite  notes  of  a  violin  drew  them  towards  the 
house;  two  or  three  times  Miss  Carrington  had  discovered  more 
than  half  her  guests  clustered  in  the  verandah,  listening  as  though 
spellbound  to  the  inspired  musician. 

As  a  general  rule  Mr.  Moore  seldom  mingled  with  the  guests ;  his 
habits  were  those  of  the  recluse.  A  few  of  his  old  friends  who  were 
sure  of  their  welcome,  and  one  or  two  of  his  younger  favourites, 
would  sometimes  cross  the  threshold  and  keep  him  company  in  the 
cool  shaded  room,  to  be  charmed  by  his  wise  and  cheerful  talk,  and 
to  take  away  lessons  of  loving  submission  and  uncomplaining  forti- 
tude. 


32  AUNT   DIANA. 

To  these  he  would  speak  of  his  boy;  recounting  endless  anecdotes 
of  his  prowess  and  courage,  and  often  making  mention  of  his  pupil 
Alison,  or  as  he  called  her,  Sunny,  for  the  young  girl  had  been  a 
veritable  sunbeam  to  her  old  tutor,  making  his  darkened  hours  pass 
more  quickly  by  her  ready  sympathy  and  aptitude  for  learning. 

On  this  afternoon  he  was  not  alone,  A  young  man  in  a  light  grey 
summer  suit,  with  a  sunburnt  handsome  face,  was  standing  by  the 
window  looking  out  at  the  knots  of  people  already  gathering  on 
Miss  Carrington's  lawn,  with  a  humorous,  half-vexed  expression  in 
his  wide-open  blue  eyes. 

'  What  a  lot  of  people,'  he  grumbled.  *  I  believe  all  Riverston  is 
there;  there  are  three  boats  full,  and  two  sets  of  lawn-tennis  form- 
ing, and  I  do  not  know  how  many  more ;  there  goes  Miss  Merle — 
Miss  Alison,  I  mean.  What  a  bore,  grandfather,  that  I  forgot  all 
about  Miss  Cariington's  Wednesday,  and  I  shall  have  to  go  up  to 
London  to-morrow,' 

'  Why,  the  more  the  merrier.  Is  not  that  the  opinion  of  young 
folk  like  you?'  returned  Mr.  Moore,  smiling.  'Now,  if  I  said  that 
I  wanted  you  all  to  myself  for  this  one  day  you  have  spared  me, 
that  would  only  be  an  old  man's  selfishness,  and  I  should  be 
ashamed  of  myself  for  giving  it  utterance  !  But  you  are  not  gener- 
ally so  unsociable,  Greville,' 

'  There  is  a  regular  crowd,'  returned  the  young  fellow,  still  more 
pettishly.  '  I  shall  not  be  able  to  speak  to  Miss  Carrington,  or  to 
Miss  Alison,  either ;  and  you  forget,  grandfather,  that  I  shall  be  oft 
to  Keswick  the  day  after  to-morrow  for  six  weeks  at  least.' 

'  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  that,  my  boy.  Well,  it  is  a  pity  if  you 
are  not  pleased,  for  they  are  going  to  keep  it  up  unusually  late;  there 
is  to  be  music  on  the  lawn.  Sunny  has  been  telling  me  all  about  it. 
The  moonlight  is  so  clear  that  ]\[iss  Diana  has  given  in  to  the 
notion  ;  and  young  Hepworth — you  remember  him — has  brought  his 
cornet.  If  I  were  you,  lad,  I  would  just  make  the  best  of  it,  and 
join  in  merrily  with  the  rest,' 

'And  leave  you  sitting  here  alone,  grandfather ?  and  I  thought 
we  should  have  just  one  of  our  old  evenings  on  the  river  ;  and  I 
should  row  you  and  Miss  Carrington  and  her  niece  to  the  Long 
Island.' 

'  Nay,  lad,  I  am  not  likely  to  be  long  alone ;  the  vicar  will  be  in 
by-and-by  for  a  chat;  an^l  most  likely  Mrs.  Hendrick  and  one  or  two 
others.      Miss   Diana  will  drop  in,  just  to  tell  me  how  things  pro- 


GREVILLE   TAKES   AN   OAR.  33 

gress,  and  Sunny  too ;  she  never  neglects  me.  Come,  come,  it  is 
not  like  you  to  sulk,  boy ;  I  want  to  hear  you  laugh  with  the  others; 
it  will  make  me  feel  young  myself.  And,  Greville,'  with  a  sudden 
tenderness  in  his  voice,  '  we  have  shaken  hands,  but  until  I  feel  you 
I  shall  not  believe  my  boy  is  really  with  me.' 

The  young  man's  cloudy  face  cleared  in  a  moment,  he  left  his 
pince  at  once,  and  dropped  down  on  one  knee  beside  his  grand- 
father's chair,  and  a  sort  of  laughing  light  came  in  his  eyes. 

'You  foolish  old  grand-dad,'  he  said  ;  'you  have  not  grown  a  bit 
wiser.'  And  then  he  knelt  patiently  while  the  thin  wrinkled  hand 
passed  softly  over  the  merry  face,  and  felt  the  broad,  stalwart  shoul- 
ders, and  then  rested  lingeringly  on  his  head. 

*  God  bless  you,  lad  !  you  are  strong  and  broad-shouldered  like 
Gerard ;  you  are  every  inch  as  fine  a  man  as  your  father.  Grow 
like  him,  my  boy.  Though  he  was  my  own  son,  I  will  always  say 
there  are  not  many  like  him  ;  there,  there,  I  must  not  keep  you 
from  the  young  folks  to  listen  to  an  old  man's  maunderings.  Tell 
Sunny  that  she  is  to  be  good  to  you,  as  you  have  not  many  hours  at 
home.  Oh,  there's  Mrs.  Hendricks  step  on  the  gravel ;  she  has 
stolen  a  march  on  the  vicar.  Now  you  can  leave  me  with  an  easy 
conscience.' 

It  was  evident  Greville  needed  no  further  bidding.  He  rose  to 
his  feet  at  once,  and  strolled  out  into  the  verandah,  casting  compre- 
hensive glances  over  both  gardens ;  then,  satisfying  himself  that  a 
certain  broad-brimmed  hat  belonged  to  the  person  for  whom  he  was 
in  search,  he  went  leisurely  through  the  little  gate,  and  tracked  it  by 
sundry  winding  paths  to  the  river  bank. 

A  little  group  of  girls  was  gathered  round  a  boat.  They  were 
evidently  playing  at  hide  and  seek  with  their  would-be  escort,  to  the 
mischievous  glee  of  a  young  Etonian  of  tender  age,  as  befitted 
jackets  and  turn-down  collars. 

*  Come  along,  girls,'  he  shouted.  '  Letty  and  Dora,  why  don't 
you  jump  in  ?  and.  Miss  Alison,  you  promised  to  steer.  Quick, 
quick ! ' 

'  Not  so  fast,  Jack  ;  where's  the  hurry  ? '  called  out  a  fresh  voice  ; 
and  at  the  merry  tones  Alison  turned  round  with  a  sudden  start. 

'  Oh  !  Mr.  Greville  ! '  and  her  bright  face  looked  brighter  still  at 
the  unexpected  sight  of  her  old  friend.  '  What  does  this  mean  ? 
Mr.  Moore  never  hinted  at  your  coming.  I  do  not  believe  Aunt 
Diana  knows,  either.' 


34  AUNT  DIANA. 

'I  thought  I  would  just  run  down  and  have  a  look  at  you  all 
before  I  started  for  Keswick,'  returned  the  young  man  with  assumed 
carelessness.  '  I  forgot  all  about  Miss  Carrington's  Wednesday 
Populars  ;  never  mind,  I  have  just  arrived  in  time  for  the  fun. 
How  do  you  do,  Miss  Dora  ?  Miss  Lettice,  I  should  hardly  have 
known  you,  you  have  so  grown.  Well,  what's  the  matter,  Jack  ? ' 
for  the  boy  was  grumbling  audibly. 

'  Only  Fortescue  and  that  other  fellow  will  be  down  upon  us 
directly,  and  the  girls  made  me  promise  to  get  under  way  before 
they  came  to  spoil  everything.  Letty  and  Dora  want  to  pick  forget- 
me-nots  on  the  Long  Island — there  are  quantities  on  the  east  side, 
where  we  had  our  picnic  last  year.' 

'  All  right,  I'm  your  man.  Miss  Alison,  if  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  steer,  Jack  and  I  will  soon  row  you  across.'  And  suiting 
his  actions  to  his  words,  Greville  assisted  the  girls  into  the  boat ; 
and  promptly  taking  an  oar,  they  were  soon  glidmg  down  the  river. 

As  the  little  craft  moved  from  the  steps,  a  clear  hallo  sounded  in 
their  ears  ;  but  the  mischievous  girls  only  waved  their  hands  gaily 
in  answer,  while  Jack  shouted  out,  '  You  are  too  late,  Fortescue ; 
you  had  better  have  a  game  at  tennis ; '  and  then,  as  Greville's 
practised  oar  cut  swiftly  through  the  water,  the  hum  of  voices  died 
away  ;  garden  after  garden  receded  from  their  view,  little  islands 
were  passed  clothed  with  low  alder  bushes,  and  masses  of  floating 
water-lilies  and  other  aquatic  plants,  calling  for  prudent  steering 
on  Alison's  part. 

Now  and  then  they  passed  other  boats,  with  which  they  ex- 
changed greetings  ;  and  once,  as  they  came  to  a  reedy  island,  a 
swan  came  out  with  ruffled  plumage  and  angry  and  stretched  neck, 
and  would  have  pursued  them,  only  Jack  threatened  her  with  his 
oar. 

'  I  suppose  there  are  some  young  ones  in  there,'  observed  Greville 
thoughtfully  ;  and  then  he  let  them  drift  a  moment  as  he  contem- 
plated the  scene.  The  broad  gleaming  river  flowing  so  smoothly 
between  its  banks  ;  the  meadow-land  dotted  with  groups  of  cattle 
worthy  of  the  brush  of  Vicat  Cole  ;  the  girls'  happy  faces — faces  that 
had  been  familiar  to  him  from  boyhood,  for  Dora  and  Lettice 
Morville  had  been  old  playfellows  of  his ;  their  simple  summer 
dresses — all  made  up  the  adjuncts  of  a  pleasant  picture  that  he  might 
carry  away  and  remember  when  he  rowed  himself  across  Derwent- 
water,  or  looked  at  the  purple  hills  that  encircled  him. 


GREVILLE  TAKES  AN   OAR.  35 

In  a  few  minutes  they  had  landed,  and  Jack,  who  was  the  hero  of 
the  hour,  for  it  was  he  who  had  planned  this  little  excursion,  was 
leading  them  proudly  to  the  little  sheltered  island,  where  the  ground 
was  blue  with  the  tiny  flowers  ;  and  in  another  moment  they  were 
all  busily  at  work.  In  the  intervals  of  his  labour,  Greville  found 
time  for  a  sentence  or  two  with  Alison  ;  and  by-and-by  he  induced 
her  to  rest  for  a  moment  on  a  mossy  log,  that  had  lain  there  for 
years. 

*  I  suppose  we  must  be  going  back  now,'  observed  Alison  re- 
gretfully, as  she  watched  the  others'  busy  movements.  '  Aunt 
Diana  will  want  me  to  assist  her  with  the  tea.  She  knew  we  were 
coming,  for  Jack  was  put  in  charge  of  us  ;  but  she  told  us  not  to 
be  long.     Dora  and  I  have  been  wanting  to  come  here  for  days.' 

*  It  is  a  bore  going  back  to  the  other  people,'  returned  Greville 
lazily  ;  '  there  is  a  host  of  things  I  wanted  to  consult  you  about.  I 
have  an  idea  !  I  will  get  Miss  Dora  to  take  my  oar,  and  I  know  Miss 
Lettice  loves  steering,  and  then  we  can  manage  to  get  a  little  conver- 
sation.' And  as  things  were  arranged  after  this  fashion,  Greville  was 
soon  engaged  in  an  animated  account  of  his  last  term's  doings.  Jack 
listened  eagerly,  and  his  oar  often  remained  idle  as  Greville  proudly 
recounted  a  successful  score  at  cricket,  or  some  boating  feat  achieved 
by  one  of  their  men.  Alison  listened  in  sympathetic  silence  :  she 
was  quite  used  to  these  confidences.  Greville,  who  had  no  sisters 
of  his  own,  and  who  had  grown  up  solitary  under  his  grandfather's 
roof,  found  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  and  comfort  in  his  young 
neighbour's  society.  Alison  would  take  him  to  task  sometimes  in  a 
good-humoured  way,  and  would  speak  many  a  word  of  girlish 
wisdom  in  his  ear,  which  he  took  with  tolerable  submission ;  she  was 
longing  to  say  some  such  word  now,  but  as  they  were  not  alone  she 
prudently  forbore. 

Their  return  was  hailed  with  delight  by  the  young  people  who 
were  gathered  on  the  lawn.  While  Dora  put  their  treasured  forget- 
me-nots  in  the  water,  Lettice  and  Alison  hurried  into  the  studio,  where 
they  knew  Miss  Carrington  would  be  busy  over  the  tea-table  ;  and 
Greville,  after  exchanging  greetings  with  his  friends,  followed  them 
more  leisurely. 

'  Well,  girls,'  observed  Miss  Carrington  brightly,  *  you  see  you 
have  your  work  before  you ;  all  these  good  folk  to  serve  with  tea  and 
strawberries.  By  the  bye,  Ailie,  a  little  bird  tells  me  that  Greville 
has  put   in  an  appearance.     Why,  bless  the  lad,  there  he  is,'  as 


36  AUNT   DIANA. 

Greville's  amused  face  suddenly  confronted  her,  and  her  hands  were 
grasped,  and  then  detained. 

'  Miss  Carrington,  I  mean  to  have  a  good  look  at  you.  You  are 
a  sight  for  sore  eyes,  as  old  Bailey  would  say.  I  have  not  seen  any 
one  so  worth  looking  at  since  I  left  home.' 

'  Go  away,  you  foolish  boy,'  was  Miss  Carrington's  response  to 
this.  *  I  am  too  busy  to  listen  to  your  blarney ; '  but  her  grey  eyes 
softened  as  they  rested  on  the  young  man's  handsome  face.  She  had 
known  him  from  babyhood.  It  was  she  who  had  closed  his  dead 
mother's  eyes,  in  whose  loving  arms  the  little  fellow  had  often  nestled 
in  those  first  sad  days  when  the  stricken  household  were  too  much 
engaged  to  care  for  the  lonely  child ;  when  he  would  follow  his 
dear  Cara,  as  he  called  her,  all  over  the  house,  with  uncertain, 
toddling  footsteps,  to  mend  some  broken  toy,  or  help  him  out  of 
some  tiny  difficulty  :  and  he  was  dear  to  her  now,  dearer  even  than 
Alison. 

*  Go  away,  I  am  far  too  busied  to  be  hindered,'  was  all  her  greet- 
ing to  her  favourite  ;  but  her  pleasant  face  beamed  on  him  as  she 
spoke,  and  her  hand  stroked  the  grey  coat-sleeve  with  a  caressing 
gesture. 

*  I  am  going  to  stop  and  help  you,'  returned  Greville,  with  gay 
defiance  of  her  mandate.  'Is  that  cup  of  tea  for  Mrs.  Morville? 
She  is  sitting  so  cosily  in  the  honeysuckle  arbour  with  old  Miss 
Effingham,  that  it  seems  a  pity  to  disturb  them.' 

'  Old  Miss  Effingham  indeed  !  '  ejaculated  Miss  Carrington,  '  you 
disrespectful  boy,  when  you  know  she  is  my  contemporary.' 

'Miss  Carrington,  you  know  you  are  irrmortal;  you  will  never  be 
old  in  my  eyes,'  was  the  gallant  reply.  '  I  think  you  grow  younger 
every  time  I  see  you.' 

'Humph,  I  hope  not.  I  should  be  sorry  to  live  for  ever  in  this 
sort  of  world,  unless  you  young  people  improve  it  very  much.  Now, 
Greville,  you  know  our  rules  for  these  Wednesdays.  This  is  Liberty 
Hall ;  if  the  ladies  hke  their  meal  al  fresco,  there  are  plenty  of 
gentlemen  servitors  to  gratify  their  whims.  Now  take  this  tray  of 
tea  and  strawberries  to  the  honeysuckle  arbour,  and  I  will  get  ready 
another  for  your  grandfather  and  Mrs.  Hendrick.  Jack,  what  have 
you  done  with  your  sister  Dora?     We  want  all  hands  just  now.' 

Miss  Carrington  certainly  knew  how  to  please  her  young  guests. 
Tea  and  strawberries  had  a  finer  flavour  in  many  a  girlish  opinion  if 
they  were  enjoyed  in  all  sorts  of  odd  out-of-the-way  places;  pretty 


GREVILLE   TAKES   AN   OAR.  37 

Kate  Thornborough  and  Dora  took  theirs  in  the  boat  that  lay  moored 
to  the  steps,  and  Jack  waited  on  them  and  kept  them  company.  To 
be  sure,  half  the  tea  was  spilled  in  the  transit,  but  the  remainder 
tasted  excellently  well,  and  all  their  neighbours'  ducks  joined  the 
feast.  One  young  midshipman,  Charlie  Trevor,  performed  the  sur- 
prising feat  of  carrying  his  tea-cup  into  the  recesses  of  an  aged 
willow  that  grew  between  the  gardens,  and  then  drank  it  peacefully 
on  a  branch  that  hung  over  the  river ;  buns  and  other  dainties  being 
handed  to  him  by  the  delighted  Jack  at  the  end  of  a  cane,  some  of 
which  fell  to  Charlie's  share  and  some  to  the  ducks.  After  tea  the 
tennis  nets  were  taken  down,  and  the  notes  of  a  cornet  began  to 
make  itself  heard  ;  then  singing  began  in  earnest,  and  Miss  Carring- 
ton  and  her  elder  guests  joined  in  the  part-songs.  Greville  and 
Alison  had  been  singing  together,  and  when  Alison  was  tired  they 
strolled  down  one  of  the  garden  paths  in  his  grandfather's  garden 
Just  now  it  was  deserted,  and  they  had  it  to  themselves  ;  this  was 
the  opportunity  Alison  wanted,  for  she  began  at  once  — 

'  Mr.  Greville,  I  do  hope  you  mean  to  work  when  you  are  at 
Keswick :  Aunt  Diana  said  the  other  day  tliat  she  knew  how  dis- 
appointed Mr.  Moore  would  be  if  you  failed  to  take  your  degree. 
And  I  am  afraid ' — hesitating,  as  though  she  feared  to  give  him  pain 
— '  I  am  afraid,  from  what  you  told  us  in  the  boat,  that  you  have  not 
done  much  this  term.' 

Greville  bit  his  lip,  and  a  cloud  came  over  his  face. 

*  What  makes  you  think  so  ?'  he  asked,  rather  shortly. 

'Your  own  words,' she  returned,  so  softly  that  his  man's  pride 
could  not  take  alarm.  '  Please  do  not  be  offended  with  me  ;  we  have 
always  spoken  the  truth  to  each  other  ;  but  all  this  cricket,  tennis, 
boating,  and  riding  about  must  have  hindered  work.  Aunt  Diana 
says — may  I  go  on  ? ' — a  little  timidly. 

*  Yes,  yes,'  rather  impatiently. 

*  Aunt  Diana  says — and  you  know  how  wise  she  is — that  though 
your  grandfather  has  set  his  heart  on  your  taking  a  good  degree,  he 
will  never  tell  you  so,  or  let  you  know  if  you  disappoint  him.  It  is 
just  because  he  is  so  kind  and  generous,  and  gives  you  full  liberty 
that,  she  says,  you  owe  him  a  grand  return — that  your  work  and  all 
you  do  must  be  for  his  sake.' 

*  I  see,  I  see,'  returned  the  young  man  hastily.  He  had  flushed 
a  little  over  her  words,  as  though  they  had  gone  home  to  his  con- 
science.    '  Yes,  grandfather  is  far  too  good  to  me.     I  do  not  half 


38  AUNT   DIANA 

deserve  to  belong  to  the  dear  old  man.  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of 
it,  Miss  Alison.  I  have  not  worked  as  I  ought,  and  that  is  the  truth 
and  the  whole  truth.' 

'  Oh,  Mr.  Greville,  what  a  pity  ! '  fell  still  more  softly  from  Alison's 
lips. 

*Yes,'  he  returned  a  little  gloomily,  'it  is  a  pity;  but  I  will  promise 
you  one  thing  ' — his  manner  changing  into  earnestness — '  I  will  work 
this  summer.  I  will  turn  over  a  new  leaf  and  try  and  make  up  for 
lost  time.  When  I  come  back  in  August  you  shall  not  have  to  find 
fault  with  me.' 

Alison  smiled  at  him  approvingly;  she  had  gained  her  point;  but  a 
moment  after  a  sigh  followed  the  smile.     When  he  came  back  in 

August,  would  he  find  her  here  ?     And  if  not  here But  here  the 

notes  of  the  cornet  broke  on  their  ear  again,  and  Greville  and  she 
joined  the  company  once  more. 


CHAPTER  V. 

*LET   THE   LITTLE   ONE   GO.' 

ify  REVihLis.  paid  a  brief  visit  to  the  studio  on  the  following  morning. 
id\  He  found  both  the  ladies  busy,  as  usual ;  Miss  Carrington  was 
vjJ'  still  working  at  her  unfinished  picture  and  giving  her  niece  a 
^Jp    lesson  at  the  same  time. 

'  I  expected  to  find  you  both  dawdling  over  a  late  break- 
fast,' he  grumbled.  *  Miss  Carrington,  you  look  as  fresh  as  a  rose 
and  as  brisk  as  a  bee  after  all  your  exertions ;  I  always  will  say  that 
you  are  a  wonderful  woman.' 

'I  am  afraid  Alison  will  not  share  in  these  compliments,' observed 
Miss  Carrington,  with  a  droll  expression ;  '  I  had  just  been  telling 
her  that  she  looks  half  asleep.  I  wonder  why  young  folk  always 
subside  after  a  little  excitement.' 

'  Everything  is  tiresome  this  morning,'  complained  Alison,  who 
certainly  did  not  quite  carry  out  her  sobriquet  of  '  Sunny,'  for  she 
looked  tired  and  out  of  sorts. 

'  I  shall  have  to  wash  this  out  again,  Aunt  Diana ;  I  can't  think 
what  makes  me  work  so  badly  this  morning.' 

*  I  am  afraid  my  pupil  is  idle,'  returned  Miss  Carrington  gravely. 
'  Now,  Greville,  don't  you  mean  to  sit  down  and  give  us  a  little  of 
your  society  ? ' 

'  Impossible,  Miss  Carrington  ;  the  dog-cart  will  be  round  directly, 
and  I  must  go  back  to  grandfather.' 

'  Then  you  have  only  come  to  bid  us  good-bye.  Will  you  tell  Mr. 
Moore,  please,  that  as  Alison  is  to  spend  the  afternoon  at  the  Mor- 
villes,  I  intend  to  invite  myself  to  tea  with  him  ? ' 

'  All  right,'  answered  Greville,  a  little  laconically.  He  was  won- 
dering why  Alison  looked  so  quiet  and  wistful  this  morning ;  was  she 
only  tired,  or  had  anything  happened  to  disturb  her  ? 

'  Good-bye,  Miss  Alison,'  he  whispered,  as  he  came  round  to  her 
side  ;  *I  have  not  forgotten  your  lecture;  I  mean  to  act  up  to  it.' 


40  AUNT   DIANA. 

'  Good-bye,'  returned  Alison,  trying  for  one  of  her  old  smiles  as 
she  looked  up  at  him,  but  she  was  conscious  of  failure  when  she  saw 
his  grave  look  of  inquiry.  No  one,  not  even  Aunt  Diana,  knew  how 
much  of  her  heaviness  was  to  be  traced  to  the  letter  that  lay  in  her 
pocket ;  a  tiresome  effusion  from  Missie  that  had  spoiled  her  break- 
fast somehow. 

'  Good-bye,  Greville,'  broke  in  Miss  Carrington's  clear,  decided 
voice.  'You  know  of  old  that  I  hate  leave-takings,  and  always 
cut  them  short,  if  possible.  "  Speed  the  parting  guest,"  that  is  my 
motto,  so  shake  hands,  and  good  speed  to  you,  my  boy.' 

'Are  you  going  to  turn  me  out  of  the  room,  you  inhospitable 
woman  ? '  laughed  Greville,  who  would  willingly  have  lingered  a 
little ;  but  as  he  knew  her  ways,  and  would  not  have  teased  her  for 
worlds,  so  great  was  his  love  and  reverence  for  this  dear  friend,  he 
only  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips — always  his  parting  greeting— and 
with  another  look  at  the  pale  student  beside  her  took  his  leave. 

'  That  is  over,'  observed  Miss  Carrington  bluntly,  as  she  mixed  a 
fresh  colour  on  her  palette.  '  I  wish  sometimes  I  had  lived  before 
the  Tower  of  Babel,  when  people  come  and  bid  me  good-bye  ;  con- 
genial folk  ought  never  to  be  separated,  that  is  my  opinion ;  but 
when  such  good  friends  as  Abraham  and  Lot  could  not  live  near 
each  other,  because  of  the  disagreement  of  their  servants,  it  is  not 
for  me  to  complain.'  And  after  this  general  outburst  of  disturbed 
feeling,  which  went  far  deeper  than  Alison  knew,  she  worked  on  in 
silence. 

'  Aunt  Diana,'  exclaimed  Alison  presently,  looking  up  with  a  very 
pale  face;  'if  you  don't  mind  particularly,  I  will  just  put  away  my 
work,  for  I  am  only  spoiling  it,  and  carry  the  weekly  basket  to  old 
Mrs.  Guppins ;  it  is  such  a  lovely  morning  for  a  walk.' 

*  Do,  dear,'  returned  Miss  Carrington,  in  her  usual  kind  voice ; 
for  she  was  pained  to  see  the  girl's  restlessness  and  inattention. 
'  When  we  are  out  of  sorts— and  I  never  knew  a  human  being  who 
•was  not  out  of  sorts  sometimes — nothing  does  us  so  much  good 
as  to  try  and  make  a  little  sunshine  for  other  people  ;  it  is  sure  to 
reflect  back  on  ourselves.' 

Alison's  answer  was  to  lay  her  cheek  softly  against  her  aunt's.  It 
was  a  very  unusual  caress  with  her,  and  spoke  volumes. 

'  I  never  saw  you  out  of  sorts  yet,  Aunt  Di.  Mr.  Greville  was 
right  when  he  called  you  a  wonderful  woman.' 

'  My  dear,  good  health  and  no  worries  have  laid  a  pretty  solid 


'LET   THE   LITTLE   ONE   GO.'  4.I 

foundation  for  my  virtues.  Please  do  not  credit  me  with  so  much 
undeserved  praise.  If  I  had  a  weak  digestion  I  dare  say  I  should  l)e 
as  cranky  as  other  people — though,'  suddenly  recollecting  herself, 
•  I  would  make  a  good  fight  for  it  before  I  got  as  cross  as  Mrs. 
Guppins.' 

'Aunt  Di,'  whispered  Alison,  a  little  plaintively,  *I  have  had  such 
a  teasing  letter  from  Missie,  and  it  is  troubling  me  so.' 

'  Have  you,  dear  ?     I  am  very  sorry  for  that.' 

*  Shall  I  read  it  to  you  ?  ' 

*  No,'  was  the  somewhat  quick  response ;  '  Missie  will  not  be  a 
pleasant  companion  to  me  this  morning ;  she  will  set  my  wits  wool- 
gathering, like  a  flock  of  starlings  ;  no,  we  will  let  the  little  monkey 
be.  Now  run  off,  Ailie,  and  let  the  sunshine  and  Mrs.  Guppins 
perform  their  healing  work,  and  take  Trip  with  you.  I  shall  be  glad 
of  a  morning's  real  soHtude.' 

'  Poor  child  ! '  she  observed  to  herself,  with  a  sigh,  as  the  door 
closed  on  Alison,  *  I  thought  something  had  gone  wrong  with  her 
this  morning.  Well,  well,  1  cannot  hve  her  life  for  her  ;  Providence 
does  not  allow  of  dual  existences.  We  women  have  faith  for  our- 
selves, why  can  we  not  have  it  for  those  belonging  to  us  ?  It  would 
not  be  good  for  Alison  if  I  were  to  smooth  her  path  and  clear  it 
from  all  the  thorns  and  briars,  even  if  I  could.  Life  means  some- 
thing more  than  enjoyment  to  all  of  us  :  "  Bear  ye  one  another's 
burdens  "  never  meant  that  we  were  to  deprive  each  other  of  the 
right  and  privilege  of  living  our  own  lives.  Mr.  Despondency,  and 
Miss  Muchafraid,  and  Mr.  Ready  to  Halt,  were  all  as  good  pilgrims 
in  their  way  as  Mr.  Valiant.'  And  with  this  she  resolutely  shut  out 
all  troublesome  thoughts,  brushing  them  aside  as  she  would  flies  on 
her  canvas,  and  went  on  painting. 

When  Alison  returned  at  luncheon  time,  looking  refreshed  and 
cheered,  she  found  Miss  Carrington  still  at  work. 

*  Oh,  you  little  Philistine  ! '  she  exclaimed,  when  Alison  forcibly 
deprived  her  of  the  brushes ;  but  she  took  her  seat  at  the  table, 
nevertheless,  only  grumbling  a  little  that  the  morning  hours  had 
flown  so  quickly. 

As  soon  as  Alison  had  started  for  Combe  Lodge,  where  her  friends 
the  Morvilles  lived,  Miss  Carrington  put  on  her  garden  hat,  and 
went  in  search  of  her  old  friend.  She  found  him  in  his  favourite 
seat,  a  low  bench  under  the  willow,  looking  over  the  river.  A  short 
terrace  walk  led  to  the  little  boat-house,  where  Greville's  boat,  the 


42  AUNT   DIANA. 

Fairy,  was  kept ;  a  palisade  ran  along  the  path,  and  here  the  old 
man  would  pace  securely  and  contentedly  for  an  hour  together, 
followed  by  his  faithful  Keeper,  who  never  left  his  side  for  a  moment. 

'  I  knew  that  was  you,  JNliss  Diana,'  he  observed,  as  the  dear  lady 
sat  down  beside  him,  and  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  noble  river 
view  before  her ;  '  I  should  know  your  step  among  a  hundred,  for  it 
never  falters  or  swer\-es,  straight  and  even,  not  hasting  and  not 
loitering  ;  just  like  my  Gerard's,  only  a  little  more  womanly.' 

Miss  Carrington  turned  her  face  aside  for  a  moment,  as  though  she 
forgot  the  old  man's  blindness.  If  her  past  life  had  ever  held  its 
woman's  story,  if  loving  hopes  had  only  terminated  in  a  long  pain, 
no  one  but  herself,  and  one  who  was  dead,  ever  knew  it ;  for  speech 
is  silver  and  silence  golden  in  such  sacred  matters  as  these. 

'  He  has  led  me  by  paths  that  I  have  not  known;'  that  was  Diana 
Carrington's  thought,  when  she  reviewed  past  troubles,  and  looked 
at  them  in  the  light  of  her  maturer  wisdom.  '  Life  is  full  of  mystery ; 
what  I  do,  thou  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter,'  is, 
and  must  be,  one's  sole  comfort. 

And  so  her  large  sunshiny  nature  gleaned  sweetness  and  strength 
out  of  troubles  which  many  a  feebler  and  narrower  nature  would  deem 
unendurable ;  and  so  it  was  that  peace  and  contentment  gladdened 
her  middle  age,  and  the  future  held  no  terrors  to  her  loving  soul;  for 
she  welcomed  every  grey  hair  and  each  faint  line  or  wrinkle  as  mes- 
sages from  the  Father  ;  that  soon  the  heat  of  the  day  would  be  over, 
and  by-and-by  she  might  hope  to  come  home  to  rest.  By-and-by,  not 
too  soon,  for  though  rest  was  good,  work  was  good  too  ;  '  and  I 
should  like  to  take  just  a  few  gleanings  when  I  go  up  there,'  Diana 
would  say,  in  her  quaint  way. 

'  My  good  old  friend,  I  have  come  to  seek  your  advice  tJiis  after- 
noon,' she  began,  when  they  had  talked  a  little  about  their  dear  boy ; 
and  she  had  gladdened  Mr.  Moore's  ears  with  honest  praises  of  his 
Benjamin,  just  to  evoke  the  slow,  tender  smile  that  always  greeted  his 
name. 

'  Yes,  he  is  that  to  me.  Gerard's  boy  is  almost  as  dear  as  Gerard. 
Now,  let  me  hear  your  story.  Miss  Diana;  somehow  I  guess  it  is  about 
Sunny.' 

Yes,  it  was  about  Sunny,  she  told  him  a  little  sadly,  for  she  knew 
it  would  go  hard  with  the  old  man  to  part  with  his  pupil  and  daily 
sunbeam  ;  and  then,  in  her  own  clear  and  concise  manner,  she  told 
him  about  her  own  and  Alison's  difficulties ;  the  state  of  things  at 


LET   THE   LITTLE   ONE   GO.'  43 

The  Holms,  Roger's  unhappiness,  Miss  Leigh's  incapacity  and  per- 
plexed doings,  Missie's  uppishness,  and  Rudel's  rough  complaints. 
And  when  she  had  finished  she  sat  perfectly  quiet,  with  her  hands 
folded  in  her  lap,  waiting  while  her  old  friend  slowly  revolved  the 
matter. 

'  Well,  Miss  Diana,'  he  said  at  last,  stroking  his  beard  as  he  spoke, 
*  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  "  ram  caught  in  the  thicket "  for  us.' 

She  understood  his  quaint  imagery  in  a  moment. 

'  You  mean,'  she  said,  turning  rather  pale  over  her  words,  *  that 
there  is  no  avoiding  the  sacrifice  ;  that  you  and  I  must  part  with  the 
child.' 

'  Yes,  I  am  afraid  we  must  let  the  little  one  go.' 

'  Oh,  Mr.  Moore  ! '  with  a  sudden  catch  of  her  breath,  *  but  it  will 
be  very  hard  for  us  all,  for  you  and  me,  and  Ahson  too.' 

'  Yes,  and  with  Greville  also,  if  I  know  anything  of  the  boy's  mind,' 
but  here  she  softly  checked  him  with  her  hand  upon  his  arm.  This 
was  the  one  thing  Aunt  Diana  would  not  discuss  even  with  her  old 
friend. 

*  Well,  well ;  you  are  right,'  he  rephed,  obeying  the  hint ;  '  there  is 
plenty  of  time,  plenty  of  time  for  all  that ;  but  an  old  man's  dreams 
are  pardonable.  Now  look  here.  Miss  Diana,  the  little  lady  has  twined 
herself  round  my  heart-strings ;  she  is  as  fresh  and  sweet  to  me  as 
my  memory  of  what  a  May  day  used  to  be.  If  the  good  Lord  has 
work  for  her  to  do,  it  is  not  for  us  to  hinder  her.' 

*  True ;  but  we  must  be  careful  not  to  make  a  mistake.  Suppose, 
my  good  old  friend,  that  we  are  putting  her  into  a  position  for  which 
she  is  not  fitted.  I  confess  I  have  my  doubts ;  Ainslie  is  very  pe- 
culiar and  unsatisfactory  with  regard  to  his  children,  and  Alison  is 
proud  and  somewhat  sensitive ;  she  was  fretting  her  heart  out  like 
a  caged  lark  when  I  brought  her  away  from  The  Holms  ;  it  was  an 
uncongenial  soil  for  a  nature  like  hers.' 

*  Perhaps  it  may  seem  so  to  us ;  but  what  if  the  Gardener  has 
chosen  just  that  soil  for  our  little  blossom  ? ' 

*  H  I  thought  that,'  she  returned  doubtfully. 

*  My  dear,'  he  said,  in  his  fatherly  way,  *  if  you  had  your  will  you 
would  put  your  treasure  in  a  glass  case,  where  no  adverse  winds  could 
get  at  her.  Well,  she  might  be  beautiful  to  look  at  then,  but  her 
utility  in  this  world,  and  the  purpose  for  which  she  was  created,  would 
be  frustrated.  What  if  you  have  done  your  training,  and  now  the 
Master  intends  to  school  her  Himself?  * 


44  AUNT   DIANA. 

Miss  Carrington  was  silent ;  she  felt  a  struggle  between  her  will 
and  sense  of  right.     Her  reluctance  was  not  for  herself,  but  for  Alison. 

'  Let  the  little  one  go/  he  repeated  ;  *  it  will  only  be  for  a  time.  I 
have  a  conviction  that  she  will  be  back  with  us  in  a  year  or  two ;  let 
her  go  home  and  try  and  bring  things  more  into  harmony  ;  when 
Mabel  grows  older  and  wiser  she  can  come  back  to  us,  but  there 
seems  sore  need  of  her  at  The  Holms.' 

'  Very  well,'  returned  Miss  Carrington,  with  a  sigh ;  and  then  she 
added  in  a  low  voice,  *  I  know  you  are  right  in  your  decision  ;  I  have 
been  fighting  against  it  for  days  for  Alison's  sake,  for  I  knew  it  would 
break  her  heart  to  leave  us  ;  but,  all  the  same,  I  felt  I  should  have 
to  let  her  go.'  And  after  this  she  said  no  more,  and  they  sat  for  a 
long  time  in  silence,  until  the  grey-headed  footman,  who  had  lived 
with  Mr.  Moore  ever  since  his  son's  birth,  came  to  summon  them  to 
tea  in  the  library. 

When  Alison  returned  late  that  evening,  pleased  and  excited  with 
her  afternoon's  boating  excursion  and  a  gipsy  tea  on  the  Long  Island, 
Miss  Carrington  met  her  as  usual,  listened  with  warm  interest  to  her 
recital  of  the  day's  doings,  and  entered  into  her  girlish  experiences 
in  her  usual  kind  way.  If  Alison  noticed  anything,  it  was  only  to 
wonder  why  Aunt  Diana  looked  so  tenderly  at  her ;  for  the  quiet 
grey  eyes  generally  kept  their  own  counsel. 

But  a  little  later  on,  as  Alison  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow,  and 
watched  the  shadow  of  the  rose-leaves  in  the  moonlight,  too  excited 
and  wakeful  to  think  of  closing  her  eyes,  there  was  a  liglit  tap  at  the 
door,  and  Aunt  Diana's  tall  figure,  in  its  dark  wrapper,  came  softly  to 
her  side. 

'  You  are  not  asleep,  Ailie?  ' 

'  Of  course  not.  Aunt  Di ;  I'm  not  even  a  bit  sleepy.  Are  you 
come  for  one  of  our  dear  old  chats  ?  '  starting  up  on  her  pillow. 

'Yes,'  very  gravely,  taking  the  chair  beside  the  bed.  'How  light 
your  room  is,  Ailie ;  no  wonder  you  do  not  feel  inclined  to  sleep, 
with  all  those  dancing  moonbeams  on  the  floor.' 

'  I  should  like  to  dance  with  them,'  returned  Alison  restlessly  ; 
'  how  delicious  it  was  last  night,  and  how  well  that  cornet  sounded  !' 

'  Never  mind  about  that,'  was  the  unexpected  answer ;  '  I  have 
not  come  for  a  gossip,  you  little  goose,  the  daylight  will  do  for  that. 
Do  you  remember  what  we  were  talking  about  that  day  when  Miss 
Leigh's  letter  came,  and  you  were  so  unhappy ? '  But  Alison  in- 
terrupted her  with  sudden  terror. 


I 


•let  the  little  one  go.'  45 

'  Oh,  no,  Aunt  Di,  we  will  not  talk  about  that  to-night.' 

'Why  not  to-night,  Ailie  ? '  she  returned  softly,  as  the  girl's  hands 
closed  round  her  arm.  '  Procrastination  will  do  nothing  for  us  here. 
My  dear,  I  said  then  that  if  I  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  right  I 
would  help  you  to  go.' 

'Yes,  yes;  but  oh,  dear  Aunt  Di,  do  not  say  another  word,  I  could 
not  bear  it.' 

'Well,  I  am  going  to  help  you,'  was  the  calm  reply;  and  then  Miss 
Carrington  gently  drew  the  girl's  sorrowful  face  to  her  shoulder,  and 
while  the  moonbeams  glimmered  round  them  she  talked  of  the  part- 
ing that  lay  in  store  for  them. 

It  was  late  before  she  left  Alison's  room  ;  nevertheless,  she  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  brief  note  before  she  retired  to  rest. 

'My  dear  Ainslie, — 

*  Your  daughter  Ahson  has  now  finished  her  education.  At  least, 
my  good  friend  Mr.  Moore  and  I  have  brought  her  to  that  point 
where  she  may  be  safely  trusted  to  carry  on  her  studies  alone.  As  it 
is  only  right  that  you  should  reap  the  advantages  of  having  a  grown- 
up daughter  to  superintend  your  household,  as,  of  course,  Mabel  is 
still  in  the  schoolroom  with  Miss  Leigh,  I  feel,  and  Alison  agrees 
with  me,  that  I  can  no  longer  conscientiously  deprive  you  of  her 
services,  especially  as  her  health  is  improved,  and  she  is  now  better 
fitted  to  endure  your  northern  climate.  As  delays  are  always  useless, 
I  shall  fix  the  twenty-eighth  of  this  month,  a  fortnight  from  this  time, 
for  Alison's  return  to  you.  Please  let  Roger  meet  her  at  the  station, 
as  there  will  be  plenty  of  luggage  to  see  after.  I  shall  put  her  in  the 
train  myself  under  the  guard's  care.  You  know  I  am  generally  averse 
to  young  ladies  travelling  alone,  but  in  this  case  it  is  unavoidable, 
unless  you  would  kindly  allow  Roger  to  fetch  her,  or  pay  us  a  short 
visit  yourself  with  that  purpose.' 

'  He  will  do  neither,'  was  her  unuttered  thought  as  she  wrote  this 
last  sentence,  and  then  she  ended  up  by  signing  herself, — 

'  Yours  truly, 

'  Diana.' 

For  ever  since  her  sister  had  married  him  she  could  never  summon 
up  resolution  to  call  herself  his  affectionate  sister-in-law,  feeling  there 
was  nothing  sisterly  in  her  intercourse  with  Ainslie  Merle ;  toleration, 
bounding  on  indifference,  was  all  she  had  ever  vouchsafed  to  him. 


46  AUNT   DIANA. 

When  Mr.  Merle  received  this  letter  an  annoyed  flush  passed  over 
his  handsome  face. 

*  Humph,  vigorous  and  managing  as  ever,'  he  muttered  ;  'just  like 
old  Diana,  not  to  let  the  grass  grow  under  her  own  feet,  or  other 
people's.  I  suppose  she  has  got  tired  of  the  girl,  and  has  shunted 
her  ofif  on  us,  as  though  two  daughters  in  a  house  are  not  enough 
for  any  man  ;  but  these  old  maids  are  so  selfish.  Well,  she  is  rich, 
and  one  must  not  offend  her,  but  I  wish  she  had  taken  a  fancy  to 
Alison.' 

These  remarks  were  happily  made  to  himself,  but  the  cloud  lifted 
a  little  from  his  brow,  and  he  smiled  grimly  over  a  postscript  that 
had  been  hastily  added. 

'  Of  course,  if  Alison  fails  to  give  you  any  comfort,  or  things  do  not 
work  well  after  a  fair  trial,  say  for  a  year,  I  am  quite  willing  to  have 
her  again,  for  I  am  not  tired  of  the  child.' 

Mr.  Moore  smiled  and  shook  his  white  head,  Avhen  Miss  Carring- 
ton  owned  that  in  a  weak  moment  she  had  written  that  postscript. 

'  You  have  opened  a  door  of  escape  for  him  there,  you  wise 
woman,'  he  said,  lifting  his  finger  at  her.  '  If  you  and  I  are  right  in 
our  estimate  of  Ainslie  Merle's  character,  Sunny  will  be  back  with  us 
before  the  year  is  out.' 


CHAPTER   VI. 
Alison's  welcome  home. 

"t  seemed  to  Alison  as  though  the  weather  sympathized  with  her 
sad  mood.  Grey  skies  and  a  perfect  deluge  of  rain  blotted  out 
the  landscape,  as  she  sat  alone  in  the  comfortable  first-class  com- 
partment, looking  out  at  the  dreary  prospect  of  dripping  hedges 
and  flying  telegraph  wires,  realizing  every  moment,  with  an 
aching  heart,  that  a  greater  distance  lay  between  her  and  the  beloved 
Moss-side. 

All  around  her  lay  the  evidence  of  Aunt  Diana's  thoughtful  care — 
the  new  book  for  which  Alison  had  long  wished,  the  bouquet  that 
loving  hands  had  culled  for  her,  the  dehcate  luncheon  in  the  pretty 
new  basket  that  had  been  bought  for  this  especial  purpose,  the  dainty 
little  strap  and  rug  ;  while  her  travelling  box  was  stored  with  all  sorts 
of  surprises — sketches  that  Alison  had  often  admired,  books  for  which 
she  had  vainly  longed,  ornaments  such  as  girls  love,  and  which  had 
been  chosen  out  of  Aunt  Diana's  own  jewel  casket,  presents  for  the 
other  nephews  and  nieces,  and  a  propitiatory  offering  to  Miss  Leigh. 
By-and-by  Alison  would  take  pleasure  in  these  things,  but  just  now 
the  poor  little  heart  was  too  much  broken  for  any  such  comfort ;  she 
was  pining  already  for  the  dear  face  that  had  looked  so  strangely 
pale  and  grave  when  she  had  taken  her  leave  of  it ;  she  wanted  to 
feel  those  quiet,  earnest  kisses  again. 

'Oh,  Aunt  Di,  Aunt  Di!  how  could  you  send  me  away  from  you!' 
she  sobbed,  over  and  over  again,  in  the  first  bitterness  of  her  grief; 
for,  contradict  as  wiseacres  will,  there  is  a  keenness,  an  intensity  in 
youthful  sorrow,  that  would  astonish  older  people ;  the  present  grief 
seems  so  overpowering  that  any  future  consolation  appears  only  a 
mockery.  It  is  only  those  who  have  lived  long  and  experienced 
suffering  in  its  bare  reality  that  know  the  healing  effects  of  time. 

Never  since  her  mother's  death  had  Alison  shed  such  bitter  tears ; 
never  had  her  young  heart  felt  that  terrible  grip  of  pain  which  a  long 


48  AUNT   DIANA. 

and  uncertain  parting  from  those  we  love  so  often  entails.  It  seemed 
to  her,  as  she  sat  looking  out  listlessly  at  the  driving  rain-clouds,  as 
though  happiness  and  slie  had  parted  for  ever,  that,  away  from  Moss- 
side,  Aunt  Diana,  and  Mr.  Moore,  there  would  be  no  peace  or  com- 
fort for  her,  nothing  but  a  wearisome  round  of  monotonous  duty. 

It  was  at  this  point  of  her  sorrowful  cogitations  that  her  eyes  rested 
on  the  little  basket  beside  her.  Aunt  Diana  had  charged  her  most 
impressively  not  to  let  the  noontide  hour  pass  without  taking  some 
refreshment. 

'  You  must  promise  me,  Ailie,'  she  had  repeated  more  than  once 
as  they  stood  together  in  the  station ;  '  you  have  made  only  a  miser- 
able pretence  at  breakfast,  and  you  must  try  and  do  justice  to  the 
luncheon  I  have  provided  for  you.' 

As  Alison  remembered  this  injunction,  she  dried  her  eyes  and 
opened  her  basket  a  little  unwillingly ;  feeling,  as  young  people  will 
under  such  circumstances,  that  the  thought  of  any  material  comfort 
in  the  shape  of  food  and  drink  was  simply  repugnant  to  her ;  but  in 
another  moment  a  quick  flash  of  joy  passed  over  her  face,  for  among 
the  strawberry  leaves  lay  a  little  slip  of  folded  paper — a  hidden  mes- 
sage of  comfort  for  the  young  exile. 

'  My  poor,  tired  little  Ailie,'  it  said,  '  I  just  know  how  you  are 
feeling  when  you  open  this  basket ;  how  my  pet  will  have  been  cry- 
ing her  eyes  out  over  that  weary  word,  good-bye  ;  and  how  dull  and 
heavy  her  loving  heart  will  be  with  this  sad  parting.  Poor  child ! 
if  I  could  only  have  spared  you  your  share  of  pain  by  taking  a 
double  portion  myself ;  but,  alas  !  this  is  not  possible.  Now,  my 
dear,  if  you  love  me,  which  I  know  you  do,  for  we  have  always  been 
a  great  deal  to  each  other,  and  always  shall  be,  you  must  dry  your 
eyes,  eat  your  luncheon,  and  begin  to  look  things  bravely  in  the 
face ;  our  parting  may  not  be  for  long  ;  one  of  these  days,  if  you  have 
worked  well,  I  shall  hope  to  claim  you  again  ;  and  wherever  you  are, 
either  at  Moss- side  or  The  Holms,  you  are  always  Aunt  Diana's 
child  :  please  remember  that ;  but  then  my  child  must  not  disappoint 
me. 

'  We  are  both  making  a  great  sacrifice  ;  now,  I  look  to  you  to 
carry  it  out  nobly  ;  be  brave,  put  self  in  the  background,  remember 
where  daily  strength  is  to  be  found,  and  draw  your  supply  daily ; 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  laying  up  for  the  morrow,  every  day  brings 
its  own  cares  and  its  own  joys,  every  day  must  furnish  its  own 
prayers,  and  its  own  thanksgiving  as  well. 


ALISON'S  WELCOME   HOME.  49 

*  My  dear  little  Ailie,  this  is  a  hard,  stony  bit  of  road  for  your  feet 
to  traverse,  but  if  you  look  beyond  it  you  will  see  the  signpost — 
duty.  I  do  not  say,  do  not  think  of  me,  but  think  of  me  happily, 
as  your  mother's  friend,  who  will  be  journeying  with  you  every  step 
of  the  way.  We  think  too  much  of  visible  partings,  and  too  little  of 
the  real  loving  communion  of  hearts  ;  what  if  you  are  nearly  two 
hundred  miles  away  from  me,  I  am  beside  you  still.  Now,  little 
pilgrim,  good-bye.     Always  your  devoted  ,  ^^^^  Diana.' 

What  matter  if  the  tears  were  set  flowing  again  over  these  tender 
words,  they  were  not  now  so  bitter ;  and  something  in  Alison's  heart 
seemed  to  stir  into  life  at  this  touch  of  wise  sympathy. 

'I  must  not  disappoint  Aunt  Di,'  she  thought;  'she  and  Mr. 
Moore  will  look  for  me  to  do  great  things  at  home ;  they  would  have 
me  brave  and  humble,  and  loving  to  every  one,  even  to  Missie.  It 
will  be  hard,  I  know  it  will — a  stony  bit  of  road,  as  she  says.  Miss 
Leigh  so  uncongenial  and  depressing,  and  father  so  cold  and  diffi- 
cult to  understand ;  but,  as  Aunt  Di's  favourite  verse  says : 

"  Holy  strivings  nerve  and  strengthen, 
Long  endurance  wins  the  crown, 
When  the  evening  shadow^s  lengthen 
Thou  shalt  lay  thy  burden  down.'" 

And  as  Alison  softly  repeated  the  lines  a  watery  sunbeam  suddenly 
broke  through  the  clouds  like  a  faint  sweet  promise  of  better  days. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon  when  the  train  steamed  slowly 
into  the  Chesterton  station.  Alison  gathered  up  her  numerous 
articles  of  travelling  gear,  and  looked  out  with  some  eagerness,  but 
Roger's  tall  figure,  and  fair,  closely-cropped  head  was  nowhere  in 
sight ;  and,  much  disappointed  and  perplexed,  she  gave  a  porter 
instructions  about  her  travelling  boxes,  quite  ignoring  the  fact  that  a 
sturdy,  clumsily-built  boy,  with  a  Scotch  cap  set  rakishly  on  his 
rough  stubbly  hair,  was  eyeing  her  sheepishly,  and  restraining  the 
alarmed  restlessness  of  a  small  yellowish  dog  that  he  had  in  his 
arms. 

'  Will  you  fetch  me  a  cab,  please  ?  *  faltered  Alison,  feeling  ready 
to  cry  again  at  her  loneliness,  and  wondering  at  Roger's  unkind 
desertion ;  and  then  all  at  once  she  encountered  a  pair  of  round  blue 
eyes,  very  wide  open.  She  started  ;  yes,  there  was  the  wide  mouth, 
the  droll,  freckled  face  that  she  remembered  so  well ;  of  course,  it 

D 


50  AUNT  DIANA. 

was  Rudel,  grown,  but  not  otherwise  altered,  grinning  affably  at  her, 
but  making  no  other  attempt  at  approach. 

*  Why,  E.udel,'  she  exclaimed  reproachfully,  *  why  did  you  not 
speak  to  me  or  touch  me  ?  I  was  looking  for  Roger,  and  nearly 
passed  you  by.' 

'  Oh,  but  I  should  have  halloed  all  in  good  time,'  he  returned  with 
another  grin,  shaking  hands  with  her,  but  refraining  from  any  warmer 
fraternal  greeting;  and,  seeing  the  lad's  agony  of  embarrassment, 
Alison,  with  much  tact,  left  him  to  himself,  and,  identifying  her 
trunks,  watched  their  transit  to  the  roof  of  the  cab,  putting  in  her 
own  hand-packages  without  any  offer  of  help  on  Rudel's  part. 

As  soon  as  she  was  seated  in  the  cab,  he  got  in  after  her,  and 
proceeded  to  put  down  both  windows.  *  You  would  not  like  me  to 
go  outside,  I  suppose,'  he  said  in  a  good-humoured,  dawdling  voice ; 
'  these  cabs  are  so  stuffy  they  make  a  fellow  feel  queer.' 

'  Go  outside  if  you  like,'  returned  Alison,  willing  to  humour  him, 
but  rather  disturbed  at  the  boy's  coolness. 

'Oh,  it  does  not  matter,' was  the  contradictory  response;  'we  have 
not  far  to  go,  and  cabby  is  so  unusually  stout  there  would  not  be 
room  for  Otter.  Oh,  by  the  bye,  Roger  told  me  to  tell  you  that 
father  told  him  that  somebody  else  must  come  to  the  station,  as  he 
could  not  be  spared.  Roger  was  awfully  put  about,  for  he  said  I 
should  be  no  help,  and  1  have  not  been  much,  eh?'  with  another 
grin  that  threatened  to  become  a  laugh. 

'  I  wish  dear  old  Roger  could  have  come,  but  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  too,'  was  Alison's  polite  reply.  '  You  are  grown,  Rudel,  are  you 
not?' 

*  Oh,  yes,'  indifferently,  '  I  am  heaps  fatter.  Roger  calls  me  "  the 
fat  boy  in  Pickwick." ' 

*  Oh,  no,  I  should  not  call  you  fat.' 

'  I  have  plenty  of  muscle,'  returned  the  boy,  with  sudden  anima- 
tion ;  and  it  was  strange  to  see  how  the  heavy,  unattractive  look 
vanished  from  his  face  and  showed  him  in  a  pleasanter  light.  '  I  can 
fight  any  one  in  the  school,  now,  even  Booby  Richards,  who  is 
double  my  size.  Father  says  I  should  make  a  capital  navvy  ;  he 
declares  he  shall  send  me  out  to  the  colonies  by-and-by.  Hurrah 
for  a  jolly  life,  say  I,  among  the  squatters.  Shouldn't  I  like  to  be  a 
wild  cattle  driver,  or  have  a  sheep  farm,  and  live  in  a  little  shanty  of 
my  own  with  Otter  and  half  a  dozen  other  dogs!  I  don't  care  about 
people,  they  are  so  shoddy  sometimes,  but  dogs  are  capital  comrades.' 


ALISON'S  WELCOME  HOME.  $1 

*  So  that  is  Otter,  the  dog  you  wrote  to  me  about  ?  • 

*  Yes,  is  she  not  a  canny  little  beast?  Look  at  her  short  sturdy 
legs  and  her  nice  sharp  little  head ;  she  is  a  real  beauty,  aren't  you, 
old  girl  ?  and,  Alison,  I  must  take  you  to  see  Sulky  ;  he  will  make 
you  die  of  laughing,  he  will  indeed.' 

'  All  in  good  time,'  returned  his  sister,  much  amused  at  this 
sudden  garrulity  ; — any  mention  of  his  pets  always  loosened  Rudel's 
tongue ; — '  but,  Rudel,  you  have  not  told  me  you  are  glad  to  see 
me.' 

*  Oh,  haven't  I  ? '  shifting  his  seat  uneasily. 

*  I  thought  you  would  have  kissed  me  after  two  years  of  absence.' 

*  Oh,  I  never  kiss  girls,'  reddening  visibly. 

'Not  your  own  sisters?'  exclaimed  Alison,  in  a  grieved  voice. 
'  Oh,  Rudel,  you  used  not  to  be  so  stiff  and  unkind.' 

'  I  ain't  one  or  the  other,'  rousing  up  at  this  reproach.  *  I 
think  it  is  first-rate — your  coming,  I  mean — and  you  are  no  end  of  a 
brick  to  do  it,  and,'  with  a  sudden  burst  of  confidence,  '  I  shouldn't 
mind  giving  you  a  kiss  now  and  then  when  you  wanted  it  parti- 
cularly, if  you  would  promise  not  to  tell  Missie  ;  I  would  not  give 
her  one — no,  not  if  she  were  to  ask  me  on  her  bended  knees — a 
stuck-up  little  minx.' 

'  Oh,  Rudel,  for  shame !  Mabel  is  as  much  your  sister  as  I 
am.' 

'  No,  she  isn't,  and  never  shall  be,'  growled  the  lad.  '  I  tell  you 
what,  Alison,  you  are  an  out-and-outer,  and  no  mistake,  and  I  will 
help  you  fight  all  your  battles,  that  I  will,  as  sure  as  my  name  is 
Rudel,  and  that  is  better  than  ever  so  many  kisses.' 

'  Dear  Rudel,  I  am  sure  you  mean  kindly,  though  you  have  such 
a  funny  way  of  showing  it ;  but  I  have  no  wish  to  fight  any  one.' 

'Oh,  but  you  will  be  obliged  to  fight  Missie,  whether  you  wish  for 
it  or  not,'  was  the  cool  rejoinder ;  but  Alison  was  spared  any  further 
argument  on  this  subject,  as  they  had  reached  The  Holms,  and  in 
another  moment  were  driving  up  the  gravelled  sweep  between  rows 
of  dusty  evergreens. 

Alison  looked  out  a  little  curiously  and  sadly.  Everything  was 
unchanged,  and  yet  everything  looked  older  and  more  dreary  than 
she  remembered  it ;  the  square,  grey  stone  house  looked  grim  and 
uninviting,  with  no  mantle  of  ivy  or  creeper  to  clothe  its  weather- 
stained  walls ;  the  front  garden,  with  its  dusty  shrubs  and  ill-kept 
lawn,  seemed  a  wilderness  after  the  Iresh  greenery  of  Moss-side  and 


52  AUNT   DIANA. 

Fernleigh  ;  the  grass  quite  brown  and  burnt  up  until  to-day's  rain 
had  soddened  it.  As  the  cab  stopped,  the  heavy  whirring  and 
strainmg  of  machinery  were  disagreeably  audible.  Over  the  low 
laurels  Alison  had  a  glimpse  of  the  large  vegetable  garden  and  high 
black  walls  with  grimy  ivy  festooning  them  ;  above  was  a  hideous 
crank  for  hoisting  the  timber.  A  mighty  plank  quivered  in  mid  air 
as  it  was  slowly  lifted  to  its  place.  Alison  averted  her  eyes  with  a 
shudder  as  she  passed  into  the  house,  and  so  she  failed  to  perceive 
another  message  of  peace,  a  robin  singing  in  the  ivy,  undisturbed  by 
the  grinding  iron  music  overhead  ;  for  many  such  loving  tokens  and 
little  lessons  are  to  be  seen  and  learned,  if  we  only  open  our  eyes 
and  read  what  the  Father  sends  us. 

The  Holms  was  a  singularly-built  house.  A  square,  stone  hall, 
uncarpeted  and  chilly-looking,  led  to  the  kitchen  and  other  domestic 
offices,  all  on  a  large  scale  and  unusually  roomy  ;  a  wide  flight  of 
stone  steps,  differing  from  the  modern  staircase  by  being  also  un- 
covered, led  to  the  sitting-rooms,  dining-room,  drawing-room,  school- 
room, and  study,  all  opening  on  to  a  narrow  corridor,  fitted  from 
end  to  end  with  books — books  literally  lining  it  from  floor  to  ceiling. 

As  Alison  wearily  ascended  the  steps,  a  thin  lady-hke  woman  in  a 
black  gown,  with  a  depressed,  gentle  face,  came  to  the  head  of  the 
staircase. 

'  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear,'  she  said,  kissing  her  affection- 
ately. 'Why,  I  do  believe  you  are  grown,  Alison;  you  are  taller 
than  I  expected  to  see  you,  but  you  are  looking  pale.' 

'  Oh,  that  is  nothing,'  returned  Alison  hastily,  '  I  am  tired  with 
the  journey.'  For  just  then  she  did  not  wish  her  looks  to  be  too 
keenly  criticised.  *  Where  are  the  others,  Miss  Leigh — father,  Mabel, 
and  Poppie  ? ' 

A  flush  passed  over  the  governess's  careworn  face. 

'  I  am  so  sorry,  Alison,  that  I  am  the  only  one  to  greet  your  home- 
coming. Mabel  and  Poppie  are  out ;  they  had  an  invitation  to  an 
afternoon  party  at  the  Brownlows;  it  is  little  Stacy's  birthday.  I 
wanted  Mabel  to  stay  at  home  and  let  Poppie  go  without  her,  but 
she  would  not  hear  ot  it.' 

'  Never  mind,'  returned  Alison  quietly  ;  but  she  was  conscious  of 
a  hurt,  chilled  feeling  as  Miss  Leigh  brought  out  this  lame  excuse. 
This  was  her  return  home  after  two  years'  absence,  and  yet  Roger 
could  not  be  spared  to  meet  her  at  the  station,  and  Mabel  could  not 
give  up  an  afternoon's  amusement   to   welcome   her  sister.      Her 


ALISON'S  WELCOME  HOME.  53 

father  was  busy  as  usual ;  probably  he  had  forgotten  her  existence 
by  this  time. 

*  You  are  very  tired,  my  dear,'  continued  Miss  I^eigh,  disturbed  at 
the  young  girl's  sudden  gravity  and  paleness.  '  Shall  I  take  you  to 
your  room,  and  send  you  up  a  cup  of  tea  ?  I  dare  say  you  would 
like  to  be  quiet  a  little ;  there  is  no  regular  dinner  to-night,  as  your 
father  may  be  a  little  late  ;  so  we  have  a  substantial  tea  at  half-past 
seven.' 

'  Thank  you,'  replied  Alison  gratefully,  touched  at  this  unexpected 
thoughtfulness  on  Miss  Leigh's  part.  But  as  she  followed  her,  some- 
what slowly,  Rudel  skipped  up  after  her,  three  steps  at  a  time. 

*  I  suppose  you  do  not  want  to  see  Sulky  now,  Alison  ? ' 

*No,  no,'  interrupted  Miss  Leigh,  'your  sister  is  tired,  Rudel; 
you  had  better  go  down  and  leave  her  to  rest.' 

'  Oh,  I  was  not  talking  to  you.  Mother  Leigh,'  was  the  boy's  rude 
retort ;  and  as  Alison  turned  round  to  shake  her  head  at  him,  she 
discovered  him  in  the  act  of  making  one  of  his  favourite  faces  at  the 
back  of  the  unconscious  governess. 

Her  shocked  '  Rudel ! '  brought  his  puckered  features  into  order 
at  once ;  he  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  executed  a  pro- 
longed whistle. 

'  I  say,  missus,'  he  observed,  when  he  had  sufficiently  relieved 
his  feelings,  '  have  you  told  Alison  about  her  room  ?  ' 

*  No,  not  yet,  Rudel,'  returned  the  much-enduring  Miss  Leigh. 

'  Then  I  shall.  I  call  it  a  nasty  trick  of  Missie's  ;  no  one  but 
a  girl  would  do  such  a  thing  ;  here  she  has  been  and  taken  your 
room,  Alison,  with  mother's  things  in  it ;  and  nothing  the  missus 
can  say  will  get  her  to  give  it  up.  Missus  is  awfully  wild  about  it, 
ain't  you,  missus  ? ' 

*  Oh,  Rudel !  do  be  quiet,'  remonstrated  Miss  Leigh,  in  the  old 
worried  voice  Alison  knew  so  well.  '  What  a  tiresome  boy  you  are  I 
and  I  wanted  to  tell  your  sister  quietly.  Alison,  my  dear,  I  am  very 
sorry,  but  Mabel  has  appropriated  your  room,  and  most  improperly 
refuses  to  give  it  up.  I  spoke  to  your  father  about  it  last  night,  but 
he  only  said  it  did  not  signify,  that  he  expected  you  would  not 
mind,  as  your  visit  to  us  might  not  be  a  very  lengthened  one.  I 
think  you  had  better  speak  to  him  yourself 

'  I  will  see  about  it,'  returned  Alison  quickly,  anxious  to  stem  the 
governess's  nervous  flow  of  words.  'Am  I  to  sleep  here  to-night?' 
as  Miss  Leigh  opened  the  door  of  a  back  room. 


54  AUNT  DIANA. 

'  I  liave  made  it  as  nice  as  I  can,'  returned  Miss  Leigh  apolo- 
getically, '  but  I  am  afraid  you  will  think  it  an  ugly  room ;  it  wants 
re-papering,  and  the  carpet  is  dreadfully  old.' 

'  Oh,  it  will  do  very  well,'  observed  Alison  quietly ;  but  she 
looked  round  her  with  a  sinking  heart,  nevertheless.  It  was  Mabel's 
old  room,  and  very  shabbily  furnished,  and  looked  over  the  kitchen 
garden  and  the  saw-mills.  A  perfect  forest  of  timber  in  neat  piles 
stretched  as  far  as  she  could  see ;  in  front  were  the  hideous  pulleys 
and  cranes.  For  one  moment  a  very  different  prospect  seemed  to 
rise  before  Alison's  aching  eyes  :  a  little  room  with  soft  green  walls 
and  covered  with  Indian  matting ;  a  snowy  tent  bed  in  one  corner, 
a  dainty  couch,  with  a  low  table  and  a  vase  of  crimson  and  yellow 
roses  on  it ;  outside  a  shadowy  lawn,  and  a  gleam  of  water  shining 
between  the  willows ;  but,  with  a  vast  effort,  she  shut  out  the  bitter 
sweet  recollection. 

She  listened  with  well-assumed  patience  as  Miss  Leigh  pointed 
out  the  various  little  improvements  she  had  effected.  Though 
Alison  did  not  know  it,  the  easy  chair  and  little  round  table  were 
taken  from  Miss  Leigh's  own  room ;  the  fuchsias  and  geraniums 
in  the  blue  vase  were  Roger's  gift ;  and  even  Rudel  had  contributed 
the  big  green  fern  that  stood  on  the  window  ledge. 

'  Now,  I  will  send  you  up  your  tea,'  observed  Miss  Leigh  at  last, 
when  the  boxes  had  arrived,  and  Rudel  had  assisted  to  unstrap 
them  ;  '  there  is  no  hurr)',  my  dear  ;  you  will  have  nearly  two  hours 
to  yourself  to  unpack  and  rest.' 

Alison  tried  to  answer  cheerfully,  but  her  head  was  aching  in 
earnest  now ;  the  tears  were  very  near  the  surface  again,  but  she 
battled  with  them  bravely. 

*  I  will  have  my  tea  and  then  rest  a  little ;  the  unpacking  can 
wait  for  to-morrow,'  she  thought.  *  Oh,  Aunt  Di,'  laying  her  head 
against  the  frilled  cover  of  the  easy  chair,  'are  you  thinking  of  your 
little  pilgrim  now?'  And  then  she  took  oUt  the  dear  letter  and 
read  it  over  again. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A  DOMESTIC   SYMPHONY. 

CTT  UNT   Diana's  letter  and  a  cup  of   excellent  tea  were  both 

-4^1    very  restorative  in  their  effects,  and  when  Alison  had  fresli- 

r^.  ened  her  tired  face  with  cold  water,  and  brushed  her  dis- 

q/^     bevelled  locks,  and  exchanged  her  travelling  dress  for  a  light, 

cool-looking  zephyr  cloth  costume,  she  felt  less  reluctance  to 

present  herself  to  the  critical  eyes  of  her  father  and  Mabel. 

*  I  am  far  too  pale,  and  I  am  afraid  my  red  eyes  will  betray  me,' 
she  thought,  as  she  anxiously  scrutinised  herself  in  the  small  look- 
ing-glass, '  but  they  will  not  be  hard  on  me,  surely,  after  my  long 
journey  ; '  but  here  her  reflections  were  broken  by  a  hasty  knock. 

*  May  I  come  in  ? '  questioned  a  voice  that  she  knew  at  once  was 
Roger's,  and  in  a  moment  she  had  sprung  joyfully  to  the  door. 

'  Oh,  Roger,  you  dear  old  fellow,- 1  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again  !  * 
she  exclaimed,  forgetting  all  her  troubles  in  the  sight  of  his  familiar 
face.  Evidently  her  pleasure  was  reciprocated;  a  pair  of  strong 
arms  almost  lifted  her  off  her  feet,  and  bore  her  across  the  room 
towards  the  window,  and,  after  a  hasty  kiss  or  two,  Roger  put  his 
hand  under  her  chin  and  gravely  inspected  her. 

'  I  suppose  you  are  glad  to  see  me,'  he  observed  at  length,  in  a 
dissatisfied  voice,  'as  you  have  been  crying  evidently  at  the  pleasur- 
able anticipation.  So  you  are  sorry  to  come  home,  Alison,  eh  ? 
and  yet' — rather  reproachfully — 'you  are  wanted  very  badly  here,' 

Alison's  only  answer  was  to  lay  her  face  down  on  his  arm  ;  this 
was  a  little  too  much  for  her  jaded  spirits,  a  few  more  tears  would 
come.     Roger  had  found  her  out,  as  she  knew  he  would. 

'  Come  now,  this  won't  do,  Ailie,'  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  soothing 
roughness ;  '  we  shall  pack  you  back  again  to  Aunt  Uiana  if  you  are 
going  to  fret.  I  looked  for  rather  a  different  greeting  after  two 
years'  absence.' 

'  I  can't  help  it,'  she  said,  trying  to  dismiss  her  tears ;  *  I  am 


56  AUNT   DIANA. 

tired,  and  everything  seems  strange  to-night,  and  I  do  miss  Aunt 
Diana.' 

'  Yes,  she  has  spoiled  you  for  us ;  you  have  grown  a  dainty  little 
lady,  Ailie.' 

'Oh,  no;  I  am  not  spoiled  in  that  way,'  she  interrupted  him 
breathlessly.  'You  cannot  quite  understand,  Roger;  but  there  is 
such  a  mixed  feeling.  I  have  wanted  you  all  these  two  years  ;  you 
have  never  been  out  of  my  mind  a  single  day.  Please  do  not 
think  me  unkind  and  disagreeable,  or  that  I  am  not  glad  to  see  you 
because  I  cried  a  little.     It  is  only  one  of  my  stupid  ways.' 

'  Well,  well ;  I  suppose  I  must  forgive  you.  Anyhow,  I  am  too 
glad  to  have  you  back  to  scold  you  properly.  What  colour  are  your 
eyes  generally,  Alison  ?     They  are  as  pink  as  an  albino's  to-night.' 

'  It  is  my  turn  to  look  at  you,'  she  returned,  trying  to  pluck  up 
a  little  spirit.  '  Why,  you  have  grown  a  moustache,  Roger.  How 
well  it  suits  you ! '  glancing  at  the  rough,  sandy  appendage  to  his 
lip  with  much  sisterly  complacency  ;  but  Roger  only  broke  into  a 
merry  laugh. 

'  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  handsome  fellow  ?  Really,  Rudel  and 
I  are  marvellous  specimens  of  manly  beauty.  He  beats  me  in 
freckles,  though,  ha,  ha  ! '  And  Roger  quite  rocked  himself  in 
merriment. 

'  I  like  the  look  of  you  very  much,'  returned  Alison  gravely, 
quite  ignoring  this  satirical  outburst. 

Strangers  might  not  consider  Roger  handsome ;  in  fact,  he  was 
regarded  as  a  clumsy,  somewhat  heavy-looking  young  man  ;  but 
his  good-natured  face  and  open  blue  eyes  always  redeemed  him 
from  any  charge  of  plainness  in  his  sister's  opinion.  He  was  so 
tall  and  well  grown,  too ;  and  though  he  did  not  carry  himself  as 
well  as  Greville  Moore,  and  was  somewhat  awkward  in  the  use  of 
his  limbs,  Alison  never  would  find  fault  with  him  on  this  score. 
He  had  not  had  Mr.  Greville's  advantages.  If  Roger  hsd  gone 
to  Oxford  instead  of  being  put  at  those  horrid  mills  he  would  have 
been  polished  too.  '  If  mamma  had  lived  he  would  have  learned 
little  things  from  her.  He  only  laughs  at  me  if  I  try  to  teach  him 
things,'  thought  Alison. 

'Your  hnir  is  a  little  rough  —  and,  oh!  your  boots  are  muddy,' 
she  continued,  after  eyeing  him  as  'careful  robins  eye  the  delver's 
toil.'     '  You  have  wanted  me  to  keep  you  in  order.' 

'  I  don't  seem  to  match  you,  somehow,'  he  observed.     *  Do  you 


A   DOMESTIC   SYMPHONY.  57 

always  look  as  though  you  were  just  turned  out  of  a  bandbox?  I 
wish  you  would  take  Missie  and  Poppie  in  hand  ;  they  drive  Miss 
Leigh  crazy  with  their  untidiness.  Oh,  we  are  a  happy  family, 
Ailie — nothing  but  billing  and  cooing  and  that  sort  of  thing  going 
on  from  morning  to  night.  You  might  take  Rudel  and  Missie  for 
a  couple  of  love-birds,  the  sweet  young  creatures  are  so  fond  of 
each  other,  and  as  for  Poppie  and  Missie — look,  there  is  a  specimen 
of  the  home-music  dulcet  strains  floating  up  the  staircase.  There 
goes  Missie.' 

Alison's  brow  knitted  with  some  perplexity  as  she  listened. 
'  Flora,  will  you  go  into  your  own  room  ?  I  insist  on  it — you  are 
not  fit  to  be  seen  in  that  torn  frock,'  in  a  sharp,  girlish  voice. 

'  What  does  it  matter  ?  she  won't  mind,'  in  a  shrill,  childish  treble ; 
*  you  are  so  cross,  Mabel.  Do  let  me  come  in  with  you  and  see 
Alison.' 

'  No,  no ;  do  as  I  tell  you  ;  you  shall  come  in  presently.  There  ! 
you  have  trampled  on  my  dress  and  torn  some  of  the  trimming, 
you  horrid  little  thing !  I  will  tell  papa  if  you  are  so  naughty,  and 
then  he  will  not  let  you  come  down  to  tea.'  Here  an  expressive 
roar  on  Poppie's  part  interrupted  the  discussion.  Alison,  who 
could  bear  no  more,  moved  quickly  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 
A  pretty-looking,  fair-haired  girl,  dressed  somewhat  untidily  and 
in  bad  style,  with  rather  a  vixenish  expression  on  her  flushed  face, 
was  standing  just  outside  Alison's  room,  and  behind  her  a  some- 
what plain  little  girl  between  eight  and  nine  years  of  age,  rather 
small  in  stature,  and  with  a  droll,  freckled  face  like  Rudel's,  only 
it  was  just  now  puckered  up  with  crying—  a  red,  inflamed  spot  on 
one  cheek  was  evidently  the  result  of  a  smart  blow  on  her  sister's 
part  in  payment  for  the  torn  trimming. 

*  How  do  you  do,  Mabel  ?'  she  said,  with  a  somewhat  cold  salute 
of  Missie's  cheek.  '  Please  do  not  prevent  Poppie  coming  to  me. 
I  could  not  help  hearing,  you  spoke  so  loud,  and  I  do  not  mind 
one  bit  how  she  looks.  Come  here,  Poppie  dear ; '  but  the  child, 
evidently  shy  and  upset  by  the  late  fracas,  held  back  in  an  em- 
barrassed manner,  until  Missie  gave  her  a  rough  push. 

*  Why  don't  you  go  to  Alison,  you  stupid  Httle  thing  ? '  she  said 
crossly,  for  she  was  put  out  at  her  sister's  sudden  appearance  on 
the  scene.  Missie,  in  spite  of  her  temper,  never  liked  to  look  un- 
dignified, and  here  she  was  caught  red-handed  in  the  act  of  boxing 
Poppie's  ears. 


58  AUNT  DIANA. 

*  Please  do  not  force  her  to  come  to  me  ;  we  shall  be  very  good 
friends  directly,'  returned  Alison,  sorry  for  the  poor  child's  awkward- 
ness. There  was  bad  management  here,  or  why  was  Missie  allowed 
to  control  her  after  this  fashion  ?  '  Come  with  me,  Poppie  dear ; 
Roger  is  in  my  room,  and  I  will  show  you  the  pretty  new  game  I 
have  brouglit  for  you.' 

Tiie  child's  face  brightened  in  a  moment,  and  she  moved  instantly 
to  take  Alison's  hand  ;  again  Missie  interposed. 

'  She  must  change  her  frock,  Alison ;  tea  is  just  ready,  and  I  hear 
papa's  step  in  the  garden.  He  will  be  very  angry  if  Poppie  looks 
rough  or  untidy ;  and  I  cannot  allow  him  to  be  vexed,'  pursing  up 
her  lips  with  a  virtuous  expression. 

Alison  controlled  a  quick  retort  with  some  difficulty.  She  had 
fully  expected  to  find  Missie  a  most  aggravating  little  person,  or 
why  should  Miss  Leigh  complain  of  her  so  bitterly?  But  the 
reality  was  worse  than  she  anticipated. 

'Never  mind,' she  said  calmly;  but  she  could  not  help  an  ex- 
pressive look  at  Roger,  who  was  leaning  against  the  doorway,  an 
amused  auditor — '  we  must  not  vex  papa,  must  we,  Poppie  ?  I  will 
help  you  change  your  frock,  and  perhaps  after  all  we  may  have 
time  to  look  at  the  fishponds.'  And  without  another  glance  at 
Missie  Alison  made  Poppie  cheerfully  lead  the  way,  as  she  did  not 
know  her  room. 

*  Well,  I  am  sure  ! '  observed  Missie,  with  a  little  toss  of  her  head 
as  she  marched  off  to  her  own — or  rather,  to  Alison's  room;  but 
she  did  not  much  enjoy  the  sound  of  Roger's  laugh  behind  her. 
'  Alison  scored  there,'  he  observed  audibly,  as  he  followed  her,  still 
chuckling  to  himself.  Alison  sighed  heavily  as  she  heard  him. 
What  a  miserable  state  of  things  1  she  thought ;  laughing  at  Missie 
would  only  inflame  her  naturally  bad  temper.  Was  this  their  notion 
of  family  life?  Hasty  words  and  recriminations,  constant  teasing 
on  the  boys'  part,  and  mutual  aggravations.  '  Live  peaceably  with 
all  men,'  was  the  command.  And  this  was  how  they  obeyed  it ; 
no  wonder  Alison's  gentle  nature  felt  saddened  as  she  followed 
Poppie  to  her  room,  a  little  one  leading  out  of  Miss  Leigh's. 

Poppie  speedily  grew  confidential  as  Alison  brushed  out  her 
tawny  mane,  and  fastened  it  into  a  neat  pigtail;  when  nicely 
dressed,  Poppie  was  not  such  a  bad-looking  child.  She  had  a  funny 
little  face,  and  a  turned-up  nose ;  but  though  not  pretty,  there  was 
something  piquante  in  her  expression.     She  had  brown  eyes,  like 


A  DOMESTIC  SYMPHONY.  59 

Alison — only  very  bright  and  sparkling— and  long,  beautiful  eye- 
lashes ;  and  though  she  was  far  too  small  for  her  age,  there  was  a 
fairy-like  lightness  about  her.  When  Alison  had  finished  dressing 
her,  she  kissed  her  and  told  her  pleasantly  that  she  was  sure  she 
was  a  good  girl,  for  Miss  Leigh  always  said  so.  '  Mabel  does  not 
say  so,  though,'  observed  Poppie,  with  a  reflective  frown ;  '  she  says 
very  often  that  I  am  a  horrid  little  thing,  and  a  tiresome  monkey, 
and ' 

'  Come  and  look  at  the  fishponds,'  observed  Alison,  cutting  short 
this  siring  of  compliments  on  Missie's  part ;  and  as  the  delighted 
child  stood  beside  her  she  made  her  hold  her  frock,  and  poured 
into  it  a  delicious  melee  of  bonbons,  crackers,  and  games ;  after 
which  they  sorted  and  inspected  them  until  the  tea  bell  rang  very 
furiously,  making  Poppie  start  and  say  they  must  hurry  down. 

As  Alison  came  down  the  "staircase  with  the  child  still  clinging  to 
her,  Mr.  Merle  suddenly  made  his  appearance  from  the  study.  He 
almost  started  at  the  sight  of  his  daughter,  and  an  expression  of 
pain  crossed  his  handsome,  careworn  face.  In  the  dim  light,  Alison 
recalled  her  mother  too  plainly  to  his  eyes.  How  often  in  their 
happy  life  he  had  stood  just  there  waiting,  as  she  came  down  to 
him  with  one  of  her  children  holding  her  hand,  and  with  such  a 
smile  on  her  face  ! 

'  Oh,  papa,'  she  said,  hurrying  to  him,  and  putting  up  her  fair 
young  face  to  his.  He  kissed  her  kindly,  patted  it,  told  her  that 
she  had  grown  into  a  woman  since  he  had  seen  her,  and  questioned 
her  with  some  interest  about  her  journey. 

The  dining  room,  a  large,  handsomely  furnished  room,  looked 
sufficiently  cosy  as  they  entered  it.  Though  the  daylight  was  not 
gone,  the  lamp  had  been  lighted,  and  the  table  fairly  groaned  with 
all  the  good  things  that  were  necessary  to  a  heavy  Lancashire  tea. 
Missie  was  in  the  seat  of  honour ;  she  gave  a  little  simpering  laugh 
as  Alison  entered  with  her  father.  '  I  suppose  this  will  be  your 
place  to-morrow,'  she  said,  rather  with  the  hope  of  being  con- 
tradicted, Alison  thought ;  for,  as  Alison  replied  simply,  '  I  suppose 
so,  but  I  need  not  disturb  you  to-night,'  a  vexed  look  crossed 
Missie's  face ;  but  as  Rudel  was  already  grinning  in  hopes  of  a  row, 
she  prudently  disappointed  him. 

Alison  sat  by  her  father,  and  gave  him  most  of  her  attention ;  it 
would  take  time,  she  felt,  to  reconcile  her  to  look  on  at  Missie's 
airs  and  graces  with  anything  like  tolerable  equanimity.     Alison's 


6o  AUNT  DIANA. 

refined  taste  grafted  on  Miss  Carrington's  opinion  could  ill  tolerate 
the  young  girl's  appearance.  Missie  was  certainly  very  pretty ;  she 
had  regular  features  and  a  good  complexion,  and  her  figure  promised 
to  be  pretty  too.  But  she  was  singularly  overdressed  for  so  young 
a  girl,  and  not  in  the  best  possible  taste ;  there  were  rings  on  her 
childish  hands,  bangles  on  her  round  bare  arms,  a  fair,  untidy- 
looking  fringe  hid  her  nice  white  forehead,  and  a  mass  of  ragged- 
looking  plaits  over-weighted  her  small  head.  In  fact,  as  Roger 
afterwards  observed,  she  generally  looked  like  a  gaudily  dressed 
doll,  pretty  in  a  dollish  way,  if  she  would  not  spoil  the  good  looks 
with  which  Providence  had  endowed  her  by  her  conceit  and  silliness. 
Alison  was  not  looking  at  her  much  to-night.  Her  father's  altered 
looks  were  making  her  anxious.  How  much  older  he  had  grown 
in  these  two  years  !  How  pale  and  grey  he  looked  !  His  manner 
was  more  absent  and  dreamy  than  she  remembered  it.  He  seemed 
more  selfabsorbed  ;  now  and  then  an  irritable  nervous  light  came 
into  his  eyes  at  the  sound  of  the  boys'  voices,  and  he  would  speak 
a  sharp  word  or  two ;  but  Miss  Leigh's  plaintive  remarks,  her 
attempts  to  lead  him  into  anything  like  connected  conversation, 
always  failed.     Poor  Miss  Leigh  was  evidently  a  nonentity  in  his  eyes. 

Missie's  'dear  papa'  always  roused  him  in  a  moment.  Alison 
tried  hard  not  to  feel  a  pang  of  jealousy  as  she  saw  his  loving  glance 
at  his  favourite.  How  Missie  had  managed  it  no  one  knew,  but  she 
could  turn  him  round  her  little  finger ;  that  she  could  coax  him  to 
anything  was  evident  as  Alison  looked  at  Missie's  sparkling  hands. 
Mr.  Merle  had  not  waited  for  his  eldest  daughter  to  come  home  be- 
fore he  had  opened  his  wife's  casket.  Alison  had  her  mother's  watch 
and  chain,  but  only  one  of  her  diamond  rings  lay  locked  up  among 
her  treasures.  Aunt  Diana  did  not  approve  of  diamonds  on  girlish 
hands,  and  Alison  never  cared  to  wear  it. 

When  they  rose  from  the  table  Missie's  first  words  were  a  per- 
emptory order  for  Poppie  to  put  away  her  toys  and  go  to  bed.  This 
led  to  a  feeble  protest  on  Miss  Leigh's  part 

'It  is  not  so  very  late,  Mabel,  and  Poppie  has  not  seen  her  sister 
for  two  years.     I  think  slie  might  wait  a  liitle  longer.' 

'  I  am  not  going  ;  there,  now  ! '  observed  the  child  defiantly,  quite 
oblivious  of  her  father's  presence. 

'Go  it,  Pops,  ril  back  you,'  whispered  Rudel,  rubbing  his 
hands  ;  '  she  shan't  touch  you  as  long  as  I  am  here,  or  her  cat  shall 
rue  it  to-morrow.' 


A   DOMESTIC   SYMPHONY.  6l 

Mabel's  eyes  flashed.     '  You  horrid  rude  boy  !     Papa '    But 

here  Alison  gently  interfered. 

'You  will  go  to  bed  now,  dear,  will  you  not?'  she  whispered  in 
the  child's  ear,  *  and  I  will  come  and  tuck  you  up,  and  wish  you 
good-night.'  And  thus  propitiated  Poppie's  suUenness  vanished,  and 
she  trotted  off  at  once. 

'Papa  dear,  you  will  not  go  into  the  study  tonight,'  observed 
Mabel  in  a  coaxing  tone,  as  Mr.  Merle  looked  at  the  door,  as  though 
he  intended  to  follow  Poppie's  example  ;  '  please  come  with  us  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  I  will  make  you  so  comfortable.' 

'  Very  well,  Pussie,'  was  his  good-humoured  answer,  as  he  got  up  a 
little  wearily  from  his  chair. 

Alison  waited  a  moment  before  she  followed  them. 

'  Are  you  not  coming  too  ? '  she  asked,  as  Roger  threw  himself 
down  on  an  easy  chair,  and  Rudel  began  to  play  with  Otter  on  the 
hearthrug. 

Roger  shook  his  head  smilingly. 

'  Rudel  has  got  to  do  his  lessons.  Missie  never  admits  him  into 
the  drawing-room  of  an  evening.    She  says  it  is  not  the  room  for  boys.' 

'  I  would  not  go  if  she  were  to  ask  me  ever  so  much,'  returned 
Rudel  wrathfuUy. 

'But  surely,  Roger,'  pleaded  his  sister,  'you  will  come  in  with  me 
this  evening.? ' 

'  Well,  if  you  wish  it  very  much,'  he  replied  in  a  bored  tone ;  '  but 
you  have  no  idea  how  stupid  it  is  in  there.  Father  never  opens  his 
mouth,  and  if  any  one  speaks  he  shuts  up  his  books  and  goes  off  to 
his  study,  and  then  Missie  flies  at  us  for  disturbing  him.  1  generally 
keep  Rudel  company,  or  go  out  and  amuse  myself.' 

'  But  not  to-night,  dear,'  she  returned  gently  ;  and  he  got  up  at 
once,  shaking  himself  like  a  shaggy  dog. 

Rudel  looked  up  rather  wistfully. 

'  I  have  almost  a  mind  to  come  too,'  he  muttered ;  but  as  Roger 
said  hastily,  '  Better  not.  Rue  ;  we  don't  want  any  rows  to-night, 
Alison  is  tired,'  he  remained  kicking  his  heels  in  suppressed  ill-humour. 

Alison  threw  a  critical  glance  round  the  room  as  she  entered  it. 
No  changes  had  been  effected  since  she  had  last  entered  it.  The 
furniture  had  once  been  costly,  but  the  damask  coverings  were  worn 
and  faded.  A  few  yards  of  cretonne  would  have  effaced  the  shab- 
biness,  but  neither  Miss  Leigh  nor  Missie  had  thought  of  such  a  thing. 
Missie  had  worked  a  few  chairbacks,  but  there  all  her  ideas  of  re- 


62  AUNT  DIANA. 

novation  had  stopped.  The  furniture  was  not  disposed  to  the  best 
advantage  either — the  chairs  and  tables  were  awkwardly  placed,  and 
seemed  to  have  no  sort  of  relation  to  each  other — no  cosy  nooks 
invited  people  to  sociable  tcte-a-tetes. 

Miss  Leigh  sat  bolt  upright  by  the  big  round  table,  with  her  work- 
basket  and  a  pile  of  the  boys'  socks.  Mr.  Merle  had  a  little  table 
and  a  reading  lamp  to  himself;  and  Missie  sat  on  a  stool  at  his  feet 
with  a  novel  on  her  lap.  Alison  guessed  at  once  that  this  was  their 
ordinary  position. 

'  Oh,  is  that  you,  Roger  ?  You  don't  often  honour  us  with  your 
company  of  an  evening,'  observed  Missie,  with  a  toss  of  her  pretty 
head.     '  This  is  a  compliment  to  you,  Alison,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'We  ought  to  put  our  books  away  to-night,'  said  Mr.  Merle, 
rousing  himself  reluctantly,  and  making  Alison  feel  as  if  he  were 
treating  her  like  a  visitor.  '  Mabel,  my  dear,  suppose  you  give  us 
one  of  your  little  songs  ? ' 

'  No,  indeed,  papa,'  returned  Alison  eagerly,  '  I  hope  you  will  go 
on  just  the  same  as  though  I  were  not  here.  Of  course,  I  should 
like  to  hear  Mabel  sing,  but  not  if  it  disturbs  you.' 

'  Oh,  I  always  sing  to  papa  of  an  evening,'  replied  Missie,  walking 
to  the  piano  with  much  dignity.  '  Roger,  I  think  you  might  ofter  to 
light  those  candles  for  me,  but  you  boys  have  no  idea  of  waiting 
upon  ladies.     You  will  find  them  dreadfully  rough,  Alison.' 

'  On  the  contrary,  I  am  rather  fond  of  waiting  upon  ladies,'  was 
Roger's  nonchalant  ansvver,  laying  a  peculiar  stress  on  the  last  word 
that  brought  an  angry  flush  to  Missie's  face.  *  I  always  wait  on  you, 
do  I  not.  Miss  Leigh  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  indeed,  Mr.  Roger.  I  always  say  you  are  so  kind  and 
thoughtful.' 

Missie  struck  a  chord  sharply.  '  If  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
leave  off  talking  I  will  commence  my  song,'  she  said  crossly,  and 
as  Roger  made  a  low  bow  and  retired,  she  began  the  prelude  of  a 
German  song. 

Alison  listened  with  much  pleasure.  Among  her  other  natural 
gifts  Missie  certainly  possessed  a  very  good  voice,  and  it  had  been 
evidently  well  trained.  Her  notes  were  clear  and  sweet,  and  if  she 
could  only  have  got  rid  of  a  certain  affectation  in  her  style,  Alison 
could  have  praised  her  still  more  warmly. 

As  it  was,  her  admiration  was  so  sincere  that  Missie  began  to  thaw 
for  the  first  time. 


A  DOMESTIC  SYMPHONY.  63 

'  I  suppose  you  sing  ? '  she  said,  a  little  bluntly. 

'  Not  much.  I  certainly  cannot  compare  my  voice  to  yours,'  was 
the  modest  reply ;  *  but  1  am  fond  of  instrumental  music,  and  play  a 
good  deal.' 

'Then  you  will  be  able  to  play  my  accompaniments,'  returned 
Mabel,  brightening  still  more.  '  Will  you  take  my  place,  Alison  ? 
Papa  will  like  to  hear  you,  I  am  sure.' 

*  Not  to-night,'  returned  AUson,  feeling  as  though  she  were  not 
capable  of  any  further  effort.  '  I  am  rather  tired ;  and  if  papa  would 
excuse  me,  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  to  bed.' 

*  By  all  means,  my  love,'  observed  Mr.  Merle,  looking  up  from  his 
book.  'Pussie  dear,  I  hope  everything  is  comfortable  for  your 
sister.  Never  mind  singing  to  me  to-night,  if  there  is  anything  you 
can  do  to  help  Alison.' 

'  I  will  come  with  you  and  see,'  returned  Missie,  a  little  un- 
graciously ;  and  though  Alison  would  rather  have  dispensed  with  her 
company,  she  thought  it  better  policy  to  accept  this  faint  offer  of 
help.  On  the  landing,  Missie  stopped,  and  said  rather  awkwardly,  *  I 
hope  you  don't  mind  about  the  change  of  rooms,  Alison ;  but  as  you 
do  not  live  at  home,  I  thought  I  could  please  myself.' 

'I  suppose  I  have  come  home  to  live  now,'  returned  her  sister 
wearily  ;  '  but  if  you  do  not  want  to  give  it  up,  Mabel,  I  will  try  to 
be  content  with  my  present  one ;  I  only  want  things  to  be  com- 
fortable, and  to  do  my  best  for  you  all.' 

'  Oh,  as  to  that,  we  have  got  along  very  well,'  returned  Mabel 
hastily  ;  '  you  need  not  put  yourself  out  on  our  account.  As  papa 
says,  I  am  grown  up  now — nearly  seventeen — and  able  to  take  care 
of  myself  and  other  people  too.  I  hope  you  are  not  going  in  to  see 
Poppie ;  I  think  it  is  a  pity  waking  up  the  child,  and  she  is  so 
excitable.' 

'  I  shall  not  wake  her  ;  but  I  promised  to  go  and  see  her,'  returned 
Alison  with  gentle  firmness,  as  she  bade  Missie  good-night.  Missie 
need  not  have  troubled  herself  about  her  little  sister's  wakefulness. 
Poppie  was  sitting  bolt  upright  in  the  darkness,  waiting  for  Alison. 

'  Now  for  a  good  cuddle  and  a  talk,'  she  said,  stretching  out  her 
arms  to  Alison  ;  '  you  are  a  nice  old  thing  to  keep  your  promise.' 
And  as  Alison  sat  down  on  the  little  bed  she  forgot  her  weariness,  as 
Poppie  laid  her  warm  cheek  against  hers,  and  called  her  her  dear, 
nice  Ailie. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MISSIE. 

LisoN  was  too  tired  to  lie  awake  a  moment  after  her  head 
touched  the  pillow,  and  she  woke  so  late  the  next  morning  that 
breakfast  was  already  over,  and  Miss  Leigh  sent  up  a  message 
by  Poppie,  begging  her  to  lie  still  and  rest  herself,  as  her 
father  and  Roger  had  already  gone  to  the  mill,  and  she  would 
send  her  up  some  breakfast. 

'  Aunt  Diana  would  call  this  a  bad  beginning,'  thought  Alison. 
Nevertheless,  as  her  head  still  ached,  she  yielded  to  the  temptation. 
The  sun  was  shining  into  her  room,  making  her  feel  hot  and  restless, 
and  she  begged  Poppie  to  lower  the  blind,  so  that  the  huge  crane 
might  not  fret  her  eyes  by  its  hideous  unsightliness.  If  she  could 
only  have  shut  out,  too,  its  incessant  whirr  and  grind  !  but  that  was 
ini])ossible.  As  she  drank  her  tea  she  looked  round  the  shabby  room 
with  a  strange  sinking  of  heart  and  spirits.  '  I  must  wake  up  every 
morning  to  this,'  she  thought,  '  unless  I  make  an  enemy  of  Missie 
from  the  beginning  by  forcing  her  to  resign  my  room.  Will  it  not  be 
better  to  endure  any  amount  of  discomfort  than  to  do  that?  I  will 
ask  Aunt  Diana  what  I  shall  do  about  it.  No,  no,'  recalling  herself,  '  I 
must  act  now  on  my  own  responsibility.  Aunt  Diana  will  think  me 
a  poor,  helpless  sort  of  a  thing  if  I  always  want  her  as  a  moral  crutch 
to  support  me.  Wise  as  she  is,  she  could  not  decide  for  me  at  such 
a  distance  ; '  and  then  the  words  came  into  Alison's  mind — '  If  any 
of  you  lack  wisdom,  let  him  ask  of  God.'  '  I  have  not  said  my 
prayers  ;  that  is  why  I  feel  so  weak  and  hopeless  about  things,'  she 
said  to  herself;  '  tiiinking  only  seems  to  lead  me  more  into  the  fog. 
I  will  not  lie  another  moment  fretting  over  all  these  troubles.'  And 
w'ith  this  wise  resolution  Alison  dressed  herself  quickly,  and  finished 
her  unpacking,  after  which  she  ensconced  herself  in  the  deserted 
dining-room  and  wrote  her  first  letiter  to  Moss-side. 

A  sweet,  brave  little  letter  it  was.     Miss  Carrington's  lip  trembled 


MISSIE.  65 

somewhat  as  she  read  it.  Alison  touched  very  little  on  her  own 
feelings  ;  she  did  not  even  speak  of  her  changed  room,  thinking  that 
piece  of  unwelcome  news  might  be  prudently  withheld.  Somehow, 
she  had  a  notion  that  it  would  vex  Aunt  Diana.  She  talked  of 
Roger's  warm  welcome,  and  Miss  Leigh's  kindness,  and  tried  to  make 
Aunt  Di  interested  in  Rudel's  and  Poppie's  droll  ways.  Missie  she 
barely  mentioned,  except  to  say  how  pretty  she  had  grown  and  how 
nicely  she  sang,  and  then  went  on  to  speak  of  her  father's  changed 
looks.  A  great  many  loving  messages,  a  few  longing  expressions  for 
Aunt  Di  herself,  completed  the  letter.  Nevertheless,  Miss  Carrington 
looked  grave  as  she  folded  it  up,  as  though  her  keen  eyes  read 
between  the  lines. 

*  My  poor  little  home-sick  child,  I  wish  I  were  near  enough  to 
comfort  you,'  she  said,  with  a  sigh,  as  she  went  on  with  her  work  ; 
and  the  next  morning  brought  Alison  just  what  she  needed,  a  few 
more  wise,  kindly  words  written  straight  from  Aunt  Di's  warm  heart 
— strong,  cheerful  words  that  carried  their  own  healing  with  them. 
*  Don't  fear  to  tell  me  all  that  troubles  you,'  she  wrote,  removing  the 
embargo  from  Alison's  sealed  lips  ;  '  any  confidence  you  repose  in  me 
will  be  sacred.  Tell  me  anything  and  everything  that  concerns  your 
dear  little  self;  it  will  all  interest  me.  I  shall  not  think  you  either 
weak  or  complaining ;  my  child  has  a  right  to  my  sympathy,  as  she 
surely  knows  by  this  time,  and  a  gift  not  used  is  a  gift  abused. 
Remember  that,  Ailie.  So  I  hope  you  mean  to  draw  on  me  pretty 
largely.' 

The  early  luncheon  hour  brought  all  the  family  together,  but 
Alison's  sense  of  orderliness  and  propriety  was  shocked  by  Rudel's 
rough  appearance.  He  came  in  straight  from  school  with  unbrushed 
hair  and  unwashed  hands,  and  sat  down  at  the  table,  until  Missie's 
loudly  uttered  injunctions,  and  at  last  his  father's  curt  command  to 
make  himself  presentable  before  he  ate  his  dinner,  obliged  him  to 
leave  the  room  grumbling ;  and  his  return  a  few  minutes  later  led  to 
a  most  undignified  scene  of  recrimination  between  him  and  Missie, 
carried  on  below  their  breaths  with  the  utmost  bitterness,  with  Poppie 
listening  with  both  her  ears,  in  spite  of  Miss  Leigh's  gentle  reminders 
to  go  on  with  her  dinner. 

But  this  was  not  the  only  source  of  discomfort  to  Alison  ;  her 
father  was  evidently  in  one  of  his  gloomiest  humours  ;  something 
had  evidently  gone  wrong  at  the  mills,  and,  as  usual,  Roger  was 
bearing  the  brunt  of  the  annoyance.     Alison's  heart  was  full  of  pity 

£ 


66  AUNT  DIANA. 

as  she  heard  the  angry  words  that  were  launched  at  his  unlucky  head  j 
in  her  own  mind,  she  was  secretly  marvelling  at  Roger's  patience. 
How  could  he  so  tamely  submit  to  be  openly  rebuked  after  this 
fashion  ?  He  was  two-and-twcnty,  very  few  young  men  would  have 
put  up  with  such  treatment,  but  yet  he  made  no  attempt  to  stem  the 
torrent  of  his  father's  wrath,  only  sat  with  flushed  face,  looking 
down  at  his  plate. 

Ahson — who  was  on  the  verge  of  tears  with  suppressed  pity,  and 
longing  to  speak  a  word  in  his  defence — was  moved  almost  to  anger 
by  the  unconcern  on  Missie's  face.  Evidently  she  was  too  used  to 
hear  Roger  found  fault  with  on  every  occasion  to  take  any  notice  of 
it.  She  had  finished  her  contest  with  Rudel,  and  now  sat  with  her 
usual  self-satisfied  look,  playing  with  her  rings,  and  humming  a  little 
French  air  to  herself. 

'Papa  dear,'  she  said  at  last  placidly,  'do  let  those  stupid  saw- 
mills alone ;  you  are  only  exciting  yourself  and  making  yourself  ill. 
Come  out  into  the  garden  with  me  and  Poppie,  it  is  so  cool  and 
shady  there.'  And  as  Mr.  Merle  did  not  at  once  answer  this  appeal, 
she  came  round  to  him  and  touched  his  arm. 

'Come,  papa,'  she  repeated  still  more  placidly  ;  'you  have  scolded 
Roger  enough,  and  it  only  puts  you  out.  Come  with  me  ;  I  want 
you.'  And  actually  Mr.  Merle  suffered  himself  to  be  coaxed  out  of  the 
room  ;  and  in  another  minute  Ahson  saw  them  silting  together  under 
the  lime  trees,  with  Poppie  and  Otter  playing  on  the  lawn. 

Alison  turned  round  to  seek  Roger,  but  he  had  left  the  room,  and 
Rudel  had  followed  him ;  only  Miss  Leigh  was  locking  up  the 
cellarette,  and  jingling  her  key  basket. 

'  What  does  this  mean  ? '  faltered  Alison.  '  Why  does  papa  speak 
to  Roger  in  this  way  ?     It  is  not  right,  is  it  ? ' 

'  Come  with  me  into  the  schoolroom,'  was  Miss  Leigh's  sensible 
answer  to  this  ;  '  as  Sarah  will  be  in  directly  to  clear  the  luncheon, 
and  we  cannot  talk  before  her.  I  must  speak  to  you,  Alison,  I  must 
indeed.'  And  leading  the  way  to  tlie  old  room  Alison  remembered  so 
well,  she  closed  the  door  in  her  quick,  nervous  fashion,  and  begged 
Alison  to  take  the  only  easy  chair  that  the  room  boasted.  'No,  in- 
deed,' returned  Alison  quickly  ;  '  Poppie's  little  stool  will  do  for  me. 
What  does  it  matter  where  I  sit,  or  whether  one  is  comfortable  or 
not?'  she  continued  impatiently,  as  Miss  Leigh  stood  hesitating. 
'  Please  rest  yourself  in  that  big  chair,  for  you  look  quite  fagged 
and  tired,  and  I  have  had  a  nice  rest.' 


MISSIE.  67 

*  T  think  I  am  nearly  always  tired,'  returned  Miss  Leigh  plaintively. 
'Is  it  not  dreadful,  Alison — about  poor  Mr.  Roger,  I  mean?  If  it 
were  not  for  my  poor  blind  mother,  whom  I  pretty  nearly  support 
out  of  my  savings,  I  do  not  think  I  could  endure  this  much  longer. 
My  dear,'  with  the  tears  starting  to  her  gentle  eyes,  '  when  one  gets 
to  ray  age  one  values  peace  and  kind  words  above  everything,  and 
that  is  just  what  one  cannot  get  at  The  Holms.' 

'  Do  you  mean  that  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on  daily?'  exclaimed 
Alison,  turning  her  flushed  face  to  the  governess.  '  Do  you  mean,' 
bringing  out  her  words  with  difficulty,  '  that  papa  often  gives  Roger 
all  this  to  bear  ? ' 

*  Well,  my  dear,  one  must  not  exaggerate.  Things  are  not  always 
going  wrong  at  the  mills,  of  course  ;  and  sometimes  we  can  eat 
our  meals  in  peace;  but  your  poor  dear  father— one  hardly  likes 
to  blame  him  to  his  own  child — is  very  often  hard  on  Mr.  Roger.  It 
seems  to  me  as  though  nothing  Mr.  Roger  can  do  pleases  your 
father,  and  as  if  Mabel  can  do  no  wrong  in  his  eyes.  You  can  see  for 
yourself,  Alison,  the  influence  she  has  over  him.' 

*  Yes,  I  see ;  but  I  cannot  understand  it.  When  I  was  last  at 
home  Missie  was  only  a  child,  and  yet,  though  she  is  not  seventeen, 
and  ought  to  be  in  the  schoolroom  and  under  your  care,  she  seems 
completely  mistress.' 

*  She  is  never  in  the  schoolroom  now,'  returned  Miss  Leigh,  lean- 
ing back  wearily  in  the  arm-chair.  '  Sometimes  she  comes  in  to  inter- 
fere with  Poppie  and  find  fault  with  some  of  my  arrangements.  But 
she  has  coaxed  your  father  into  giving  her  French  and  singing  lessons 
with  her  friends  the  Hardwicks,  and  for  months  she  has  refused  to 
open  even  a  history ;  and  yet  you  have  no  idea  how  ignorant  she  is. 
Nothing  but  mischief  has  resulted  from  her  intimacy  with  Eva 
Hardwick.  I  have  spoken  to  your  father  over  and  over  again  about 
it,  but  he  listens  to  Mabel's  version  of  her  friend's  character,  and  only 
the  other  day  he  told  me  I  must  be  mistaken,  for  Eva  was  a  bright, 
high-spirited  girl ;  and  it  was  all  nonsense  what  Mr.  Roger  and  I 
said  about  her.' 

*  Roger  dislikes  her,  then  ? ' 

'Oh  yes  ;  he  never  speaks  to  her  if  he  can  help  it  She  is  a  fine- 
looking  girl,  older  than  Mabel,  but  vain  and  empty-headed,  thinking 
of  nothing  but  balls  and  flirtations  ;  and  you  know  how  dangerous  a 
friend  of  that  sort  is  to  a  girl  of  Mabel's  age.  To  do  Mabel  justice, 
she  was  not  half  so  vain  and  fond  of  dress  and  finery  until  she  went 


68  AUNT  DIANA. 

SO  much  to  the  Hardwicks.  They  have  completely  turned  her  head. 
Eva  tells  her  how  pretty  she  is,  and  lends  'her  all  sorts  of  foolish 
novels,  which  unsettle  her  more  by  their  false  notions  of  life  ;  and 
now  nothing  is  good  enough  for  Mabel,  nothing  pleases  her,  and, 
worst  of  all,  Eva  has  taken  a  dislike  to  Roger  because  he  refuses  to 
pay  her  any  attention  and  laughs  at  all  their  nonsense ;  and  that  sets 
Mabel  against  her  brother.' 

Alison  listened  with  a  distressed  face,  but  she  was  evidently  reading 
Missie's  character  under  a  new  light ;  she  thought  of  her  conversation 
with  Aunt  Diana  in  the  moonlighted  garden,  and  the  importance 
Aunt  Diana  placed  on  friendship  and  its  influence  over  people's 
characters.  She  had  a  horror  of  '  girl  butterflies,'  as  she  called  them 
— girls  who  lived  for  social  excitements,  who  had  no  interest  beyond 
passing  pleasures.  Surely  this  Eva  Hard  wick  must  be  a  'girl 
butterfly.' 

'  Oh,  they  are  pretty  enough  to  look  at,'  Miss  Carrington  would 
say,  '  if  we  could  only  see  them  in  the  sunshine ;  but  when  a  storm 
comes  just  look  at  the  poor  things,  at  their  draggled  wings  and 
miserable  plight.  One  would  rather  be  a  working  bee  then,  with  a 
hive  full  of  honey  and  a  nice  little  wax  cell  of  its  own.  Girls  are 
never  prettier,  in  my  opinion,  than  when  they  are  hard  at  work,  with 
plenty  of  play  to  follow ;  and  they  are  ever  so  much  happier,  take 
my  word  for  it,  Ailie ;  and  I  have  been  a  girl  myself.' 

*  Mabel  always  had  a  temper  of  her  own,'  went  on  Miss  Leigh, 
feeling  a  sort  of  relief  in  pouring  out  her  feelings  into  Alison's  ear, 
'  but  she  was  never  so  aggravating  as  she  is  now.  You  see,  my  dear,  if 
a  girl  does  not  hold  her  own  home  as  sacred,  if  she  chooses  a  giddy 
young  companion  for  her  confidante,  and  retails  to  her  all  that  passes 
in  her  own  household,  finding  fault  with  her  own  people,  and  listen- 
ing to  her  friend's  estimate  of  them,  she  may  end  as  Mabel  does, 
in  thinking  her  brothers  rough  and  unmannerly,  and  Poppie  a 
disagreeable  Httle  girl.' 

'  Do  you  mean  Missie  is  so  dishonourable  as  to  repeat  to  Miss 
Hardwick  all  that  passes  at  The  Holms?'  asked  Alison  indig- 
nantly. 

'They  do  not  think  it  dishonourable,'  returned  Miss  Leigh,  with 
a  quiet  good  sense  with  which  Alison  had  never  credited  her.  The 
governess  had  evidently  learned  something  from  her  troubles.  'You 
see,  Mabel  calls  Eva  her  bosom  friend,  and  refuses  to  have  any 
secrets  from  her.     If  Eva  comes  this  afternoon,  all  that  passed  at 


69 


MISSIE.  71 

the  luncheon  table  between  your  father  and  Mr.  Roger  will  be 
retailed,  as  a  matter  of  course.  Even  if  Mabel  were  disposed  to 
be  reticent  for  once,  Eva,  who  is  of  an  inquisitive  nature,  and  who 
completely  dominates  her,  would  soon  worm  the  whole  thing  from 
her.  She  has  a  grudge  against  Mr.  Roger,  and  nothing  would 
please  her  more  than  to  hear  of  his  humiliation.  I  have  reason  to 
know,  Alison,  that  it  is  by  Eva's  advice  that  Mabel  intends  to 
keep  your  room.  I  have  heard  her  say  myself  that,  of  course,  as 
your  home  is  with  Miss  Carrington,  you  have  resigned  your  privilege 
here  as  the  eldest  daughter,  and  that  there  is  no  need  for  Mabel  to 
knock  under  completely.     Those  were  her  very  words.' 

Alison  looked  grave.  *  Is  Miss  Hardwick  often  here?'  she 
asked  at  last. 

'  They  are  together  every  day,  either  here  or  at  Broadlands — the 
Hardwicks'  house.  But  as  your  father  objects  to  strangers,  or, 
indeed,  to  visitors  of  any  kind,  Eva  very  rarely  spends  the  evenings 
here.  They  were  practising  in  the  drawing-room  this  morning,  and 
afterwards  they  went  out  together.  There  is  another  sister,  Anna, 
a  nice  Httle  thing,  rather  pale  and  delicate-looking,  but  they  both 
snub  her.  I  suppose  that  makes  Mr.  Roger  kind  to  her  when  she 
comes,  for  her  sister  certainly  slights  her,  and  Mr.  Roger  always 
stands  up  for  every  one  but  himself.' 

'But,  Miss  Leigh,  what  would  Aunt  Diana  say  ?  Do  you  mean 
Mabel  and  Miss  Hardwick  go  out  alone?' 

A  flush  passed  over  the  governess's  thin  face. 

*  What  can  I  do,  Alison  ?  Mabel  will  not  listen  to  me ;  in  fact, 
she  sets  me  completely  at  defiance,  and  when  I  carry  a  complaint  to 
your  father  I  get  no  redress,  of  course.  I  am  seriously  uneasy  at 
Mabel  going  about  in  this  independent  way.  In  my  opinion  young 
ladies  of  Mabel's  age  ought  to  be  with  their  motliers  and  sisters. 
She  is  far  too  pretty,  and  so  is  Eva,  to  go  about  as  they  do.  It  would 
not  matter  if  they  were  quiet  in  dress  and  manner,  but  they  are  two 
gaily  dressed,  giggling  girls.  Mrs.  Hardwick  has  not  our  nice,  old- 
fashioned  ideas ;  she  allows  her  girls  the  freedom  of  boys.  Eva  is 
completely  beyond  her  mother's  control  now.  She  speaks  to  her 
as  though  they  were  equals  in  age,  contradicts  her  flatly,  puts  her 
right  in  the  most  impertinent  way  if  she  thinks  her  wrong — in  fact, 
reverence  to  parents,  respect  to  age,  is  totally  at  variance  with  the 
creed  of  the  emancipated  girl.' 

'  Oh,  Aunt  Di,'  thought  Alison,  and  more  than  ever  she  clave  to 


72  AUNT  DIANA. 

the  memory  of  those  wise,  gentle  precepts  which  had  bade  her 
pupil  watch  against  the  growing  evil  of  the  present  day,  which  is  to 
undervakie  the  lessons  of  experience,  and  to  induce  young  people 
to  be  their  own  sign-posts  in  the  road  of  life.  '  Grey  hairs  are  not 
what  they  used  to  be,'  she  would  say  with  a  sigh  ;  '  old  age  has  gone 
out  of  fashion,  only  the  young  people  lead  no\v-a-days.  Never  go 
with  the  herd,  Ailie  ;  believe  me,  dear  child,  old  customs  are  the 
best.  "  Honour  thy  father  and  thy  mother  "  never  meant  "  Laugh  at 
them  for  being  old-fashioned."' 

'  It  seems  odd,  my  saying  all  this  to  you,  Alison,'  observed  Miss 
Leigh,  after  a  pause ;  '  for  you  are  young  yourself ;  but  you  were 
never  flighty  and  easily  led,  as  Mabel  is.  I  believe  she  has  her 
good  points ;  she  is  really  very  much  attached  to  your  father,  and 
will  leave  Eva  sometimes,  if  he  wants  her  ;  and  in  her  own  way  she 
is  fond  of  Poppie,  though  she  tyrannises  over  her.  There !  Poppie 
is  crying  as  usual,  that  is  generally  the  end  when  she  is  long  with 
Mabel.  I  suppose,  by  that,  your  father  has  gone  back  to  the  mill. 
I  had  better  go  to  her,  Alison,  if  you  will  excuse  me.' 

Alison  had  plenty  of  food  for  meditation  when  she  was  left  alone ; 
a  very  difficult  problem  was  before  her  to  solve.  How  was  she  to 
gain  an  influence  over  her  faulty  young  sister  ? 

Missie  was  clever  enough  for  her  own  i)urposes.  Half-educated, 
she  had  managed  to  effect  her  escape  from  the  schoolroom  at  an 
age  when  girls  were  generally  working  their  hardest.  She  had  not 
only  thrown  off  all  allegiance  to  her  governess,  but  she  was  actually 
assuming  the  reins  of  domestic  government.  Alison  had  arrived 
just  in  time  to  see  the  whole  household  made  miserable  by  the  mis- 
management and  ignorance  of  a  gitl  of  sixteen  and  a  half.  The 
role  of  mistress  was  ill-suited  to  her  temper  and  capacity,  and  she 
was  daily  becoming  more  exacting  in  trifles  and  more  domineering. 
In  spite  of  her  filial  feelings,  Alison  could  not  but  feel  that  her 
father  was  most  to  blame  for  this  state  of  affairs.  Why  did  he 
permit  a  child  of  Mabel's  age  to  dominate  him  and  his  household  ? 
Missie  might  be  winning  and  sweet  to  him,  and  he  might  love  to 
pet  her  and  be  blind  to  many  of  her  faults  ;  but  no  father  ought 
to  be  so  completely  hoodwinked.  He  had  doubtless  suftered  his 
natural  indolence  to  gain  the  mastery  over  him.  A  recluse  and 
bookworm  by  nature,  unfit  for  the  work  that  was  distasteful  to  him 
— for  he  had  always  hated  the  mill — he  had  grown  irritable  and 
exacting  in  all  matters  relating  to  business,  and  his  leisure  hours 


MISSIE.  73 

were  spent  in  his  beloved  studies,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
interests,  so  that,  with  the  exception  of  Missie,  who  adapted  herself 
to  his  tastes,  and  never  allowed  him  to  be  disturbed,  he  lived  as 
a  stranger  among  his  children,  letting  things  take  their  course,  and, 
like  other  selfish,  self-absorbed  people,  only  seriously  put  out  when 
his  own  comfort  was  impaired. 

Alison  had  always  felt  most  painfully  that  her  father  had  never 
taken  the  trouble  to  understand  her.  Even  in  the  old  days  she  had 
a  poignant  feeling  that  she  was  not  to  him  what  other  daughters 
were  to  their  fathers  ;  even  then  the  childish,  fair-headed  Mabel  had 
been  his  favourite.  On  her  arrival  he  had  greeted  her  kindly  ;  but 
all  the  time  Alison  felt  there  was  no  real  welcome  for  her — no  room 
in  his  self-engrossed  life  for  the  daughter  who  was  almost  a  stranger 
to  him,  of  whose  thoughts  and  opinions  he  knew  nothing.  '  Missie 
has  found  the  key  to  his  heart,  but  I  am  left  out  in  the  cold,' 
thought  Alison  with  natural  sadness  ;  '  but,  after  all,  it  is  not  so 
bad  for  me  as  for  Roger.'  But  at  this  point  of  her  cogitations.  Miss 
Leigh  returned  with  Poppie,  who  was  crying  bitterly;  ai:d  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon  was  spent  by  Alison  in  comforting  her  little  sister  for 
Mabel's  tyranny,  by  playing  with  her  at  the  novel  game  of  fish- 
ponds. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

*  I   WANTED   TO   FIND   YOU,  DEAR.' 

'r.  Merle  had  suffered  great  reverses  in  his  life.  He  had  been 
once  an  idle  man  with  a  tolerable  amount  of  wealth,  which, 
by  mismanagement  and  extravagance,  had  somehow  dwindled 
away,  and  had  reluctantly  donned  harness  in  his  early  married 
life  by  working  his  own  saw-mills,  instead  of  entrusting  them 
to  his  agent. 

In  putting  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel  after  this  manly  fashion,  and 
striving  to  retrieve  his  fallen  fortunes,  Mr.  Merle  considered  that 
he  was  playing  his  part  nobly  in  life — that  no  one  could  lay  the 
finger  of  blame  upon  him  ;  and  yet  in  his  own  heart  he  knew  him- 
self to  be  a  disappointed  and  embittered  man.  His  work  was 
simply  odious  to  him.  His  ambition  had  been  to  distinguish  him- 
self in  the  literary  world,  and  as  his  talents  were  of  no  mean  order, 
and  he  had  the  nice  discernment  and  the  keen  intellect  belonging 
to  the  practised  scholar,  nothing  but  leisure  and  opportunity  were 
lacking  to  him.  The  endeavour  to  lead  the  two  lives  had  been 
fatal  to  his  own  peace  and  to  the  peace  of  the  household.  Late 
hours,  intense  thought,  and  latterly  a  growing  hopelessness  of  results 
— for  the  goal  of  success  seemed  as  far  removed  from  him  as  ever — 
were  beginning  to  tell  upon  his  health.  Still  in  the  prime  of  life, 
he  was  becoming  haggard  and  grey  before  his  time.  His  moods 
grew  captious  and  irritable;  his  baffled  consciousness  told  on  him; 
his  intercourse  with  his  family  became  more  unsatisfactory;  the 
whole  nature  of  the  man  seemed  warped  and  out  of  harmony  with 
his  surroundings. 

And  yet  there  was  a  charm  about  Ainslie  Merle,  as  his  sister-in- 
law  knew  well,  that,  in  spite  of  his  selfishness,  or  rather  self-seeking, 
made  women  cling  to  him.     His  wife  had  been  devoted  to  him. 

The  dinner-hour  was  the  only  time  when  his  children  ever 
found  him  disposed  to  be  sociable.     But  Rudel  and  Poppie  were 


*I   WANTED   TO   FIND   YOU,   DEAR.'  75 

not  admitted  to  this  meal.  Rudel's  supper  was  generally  placed 
in  the  schoolroom,  where  he  learnt  his  evening  lessons,  and  Poppie 
would  join  him. 

Alison,  who  was  disposed  to  pity  the  poor  children  in  their 
solitude,  soon  found  that  her  condolence  was  thrown  away. 

'  It  is  ever  so  much  nicer  here,'  observed  Rudel,  looking  up  from 
his  book  with  his  hands  pushed  through  his  hair.  *  You  don't 
know  what  you  are  talking  about,  Ailie.  Old  Nanny  sends  us  in 
a  rattling  good  supper,  and  Pops  and  I,  and  Otter  too,  have  a  rare 
good  time  of  it ;  don't  we,  Pops  ? '  and,  as  the  little  girl  nodded  in 
reply,  he  went  on,  '  No,  thank  you  ;  no  late  dinners  for  me.  Ask 
Roger  how  he  enjoys  them.  He  is  going  to  cut  it  tonight.  He 
told  me  so.' 

'  Do  you  mean  Roger  is  not  coming  in  to  dinner?  '  asked  Alison 
anxiously. 

*  I  don't  suppose  he  has  digested  his  luncheon  yet,'  returned  the 
boy,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  ;  but,  as  the  dinner  bell  sounded, 
Alison  was  obliged  to  hurry  away.  She  was  not  a  moment  too 
soon.  Missie  was  already  in  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
Alison  coloured  a  little  as  she  seated  herself  by  her  father,  but  took 
no  further  notice ;  the  next  day  was  Sunday ;  she  would  begin  the 
following  day  by  taking  possession  quietly  of  her  proper  place. 

She  was  astonished  to  find  that  Roger's  absence  was  scarcely 
commented  upon.  Mr.  Merle  talked  a  good  deal  to  his  daughters  ; 
he  seemed  rather  surprised  at  the  intelligence  with  which  Alison 
answered  him.  'Your  aunt  has  had  you  well  taught,'  he  said  once, 
as  though  he  were  gratified  with  her  information. 

Alison  saw  directly  that  Missie  was  displeased  with  the  notice 
he  took  of  her,  and  seemed  bent  on  drawing  his  attention  to  herself, 
but  she  was  too  anxious  and  unhappy  about  Roger  to  mind  her 
sister's  jealousy. 

The  moment  dinner  was  over,  she  went  in  search  of  Rudel.  The 
boy,  with  all  his  roughness  and  odd  ways,  manifested  a  sort  of  dog- 
like fidelity  for  his  elder  brother,  and  Alison  was  sure  that  he  was 
acquainted  with  all  his  movements,  but,  to  her  surprise,  he  was  not 
disposed  to  be  communicative — in  fact,  he  became  exceedingly 
grumpy  on  being  questioned. 

It  was  no  business  of  hers  if  Roger  liked  to  go  without  his  dinner; 
old  Nanny  would  take  care  of  hun ;  he  did  not  want  to  be  fussed 
over  by  a  lot  of  girls. 


76  AUNT  DIANA 

•But,  Rudel  dear,'  persisted  Alison,  with  great  sweetness,  in  return 
for  this  rebuff,  '  Roger  always  likes  me  with  him ;  we  have  been 
chums— is  not  that  what  you  call  it  ? — all  our  lives.  I  shall  be  quite 
distressed  if  I  cannot  find  him,  for  I  want  a  long,  quiet  talk  with 
him.' 

'  Want  must  be  your  master,  then,'  returned  Rudel,  with  decided 
rudeness.  *  Girls  have  no  sense  of  honour  ;  they  think  a  fellow  is 
always  ready  to  peach,  but  I  am  not  that  shabby  sort.  Roger  shall 
not  be  bothered  if  I  can  help  it ;  he  has  enough  to  bear  without 
that'  And  so  saying,  Rudel  planted  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and 
began  conning  his  Latin  in  a  dogged  way,  as  though  he  were  proof 
against  any  amount  of  coaxing. 

Alison  stood  beside  him  a  moment,  but  she  made  no  further 
attempts  to  question  him.  *  Never  mind,'  she  said  cheerfully,  '  if 
you  will  not  help  me,  Rudel,  I  must  find  him  by  myself ;  I  re- 
member some  of  his  old  haunts.'  And  then,  fetching  her  garden 
hat,  she  went  quickly  through  the  kitchen  garden,  and  passed 
through  a  gate  leading  to  the  saw  mills.  She  stopped  for  an  instant 
on  the  little  bridge  that  crossed  the  canal,  and  looked  down  at  the 
dark,  sluggish  water.  A  barge  was  coming  towards  her.  An  old 
white  horse,  with  a  boy  guiding  it,  was  on  the  towing-path.  The 
old  watchman,  Timothy,  passed  her  with  his  rough  '  Good  evening.' 
Before  her  lay  the  great  timber  yard,  with  its  silent  machinery  and 
masses  of  unsawn  wood,  and  the  long  straight  aisles  with  vast  wood 
erections  on  either  side  ;  arches  of  white  planks  placed  at  uniform 
distances,  looking  like  vague  beginnings  of  some  uncompleted 
works  ;  the  white  piles  gleaming  in  somewhat  ghostly  fashion  in  the 
dim  light. 

Alison  wandered  down  them,  feeling  as  though  she  were  losing 
herself  in  a  forest  of  dead  wood  ;  the  silence  and  sense  of  loneliness 
was  beginning  to  oppress  her,  in  spite  of  her  longing  to  find  Roger, 
when,  all  at  once,  in  a  quiet  nook,  she  came  upon  him,  sitting  on 
a  truck  with  Nettle,  the  watchman's  dog,  a  large  fox  terrier,  beside 
him.  He  sprang  to  the  ground  when  he  saw  Alison,  and  gave 
a  low  whistle  of  surprise,  while  Nettle,  who  was  a  cross  old  lady,  set 
up  a  surly  bark. 

'  Why,  Ailie  !  What  in  the  world  could  tempt  you  to  a  timber 
promenade?  You  looked  just  like  a  ghost,  or  some  such  uncanny 
creature,  in  your  white  gown,  gliding  between  the  wood-piles ;  no 
wonder  Nettle  is  scared.' 


'I   WANTED   TO   FIND   YOU,   DEAR.'  ^^ 

'  I  wanted  to  find  you,  dear,'  returned  Alison,  looking  at  him 
wistfully;  she  thought  he  looked  tired  and  out  of  spirits.  '  Rudel 
would  not  tell  me  where  you  were,  but  I  remembered  your  old  habits  ; 
you  see,  it  is  so  warm  and  not  very  late,  and  I  should  like  to  stop 
out  with  you  a  little.' 

'  Come  and  sit  down,'  was  his  answer  to  this.  '  I  can  find  you 
a  better  seat  than  the  truck  ;  these  planks  are  nice  and  clean,  they 
will  not  soil  your  pretty  dress.  There,  that  is  comfortable,  I  hope,' 
as  he  put  her  in  a  snug  corner  and  stretched  himself  out  beside  her. 
'  Down,  Nettle ;  the  ground  is  good  enougli  for  you,  old  lady,  so 
make  room  for  your  betters.' 

'  Nettle  is  still  your  companion,  I  see.' 

'  Oh,  yes,  we  are  often  together  ;  this  is  a  rare  place  for  a  good 
long  sulk,  Ailie.  When  I  am  down  in  the  mouth  I  generally  come 
here,  and  Nettle  keeps  me  company,  poor  old  lass.' 

'  Rudel  knew  that,  I  suppose.' 

'  Oh,  yes ;  but  Rudel  is  a  sharp  lad,  and  knows  the  value  of 
closeness  :  of  course  he  would  not  tell  you.  That  boy  has  a  talent 
for  holding  his  tongue  ;  Nettle  is  not  more  trusty.  Well,  my  dear, 
how  often  have  you  wished  yourself  back  at  Moss  side  to-day  ?  I 
declare  I  wished  you  there  myself  at  luncheon  time.' 

*  Oh,  Roger  ! ' 

'  Of  course  I  know  what  that  means.  I  just  know  how  you  felt 
about  it,  Ailie.  Is  it  not  hard  on  a  fellow  for  his  own  father  to  be 
down  on  him  like  that  ? ' 

'  It  is  more  than  hard,' she  returned,  laying  her  liand  caressingly  on 
his  shoulder,  for  his  face  was  averted,  as  though  he  did  not  care  to 
meet  her  eyes  ;  '  it  ought  not  to  be,  Roger.  Why,  why — I  don't 
want  to  hurt  you,  dear — but  why  did  you  not  speak,  if  only  to  own 
your  fault  ? ' 

He  turned  in  some  surprise  at  this.  'Why?  because  it  was  not 
my  fault,  Ailie.  Didn't  you  know  that  all  the  time  he  was  putting 
the  blame  of  other  people  on  me?  That  is  what  he  always  does. 
What  is  the  use  of  my  speaking,  when  he  will  not  believe  a  word  I 
say? ' 

'  Oh,  Roger  ! '  in  a  still  more  grieved  voice. 

*  Oh,  Roger  !  indeed.  I  do  believe,  Ailie,  I  am  the  most  unfortu- 
nate beggar  that  ever  breathed.  Don't  you  remember  how  I  hated 
it — the  whole  place,  I  mean — when  father  took  me  from  schoi;l 
and  made  me  learn  the  business  ?     I  wanted  to  be  a  farmer  or  an 


y8  AUNT   DIANA. 

engineer — anything,  in  fact,  but  to  lead  this  plodding  sort  of  life.  If 
I  had  known  then  what  I  had  to  go  through,  I  would  have  run  away. 
I  would,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Roger.' 

'Please  do  not  talk  so.' 

*  I  do  not  see  what  hinders  my  cutting  the  whole  concern  now,* 
he  went  on,  with  a  gloomy  light  in  his  blue  eyes.  *  Sometimes  I 
think  I  cannot  stand  it  a  day  longer,  what  with  the  business  worries 
and  the  nagging  that  goes  on  at  home.  Alison,  I  do  not  know  if 
I  am  right  in  telling  things  to  a  girl  like  you,  but  I  believe  you  can 
keep  a  silent  tongue  as  well  as  Rudel.' 

'Yes,  indeed,'  she  assured  him  eagerly;  'I  would  not  repeat 
a  word,  even  to  Aunt  Diana.' 

'Aunt  Diana!'  in  a  startled  tone — 'no,  of  course,  Alison;  it  is 
bad  enough  to  know  that  everything  that  passes  at  home  reaches 
the  ear  of  that  girl  Eva  Hard  wick.  Honour  among  thieves,  Ailie  ; 
but  apparently  not  among  young  ladies  when  they  have  bosom 
friends.' 

Alison  sighed,  but  she  thought  it  best  to  let  this  statement  pass 
uncontradicted.  Evidently  Roger's  notion  of  young  ladyhood  was 
suffering  largely  in  consequence  of  Missies  injudicious  conduct,  but 
he  was  too  much  engrossed  at  the  present  moment  for  more  than  tliat 
passing  sarcasm.     '  You  know  our  manager,  Fergusson?' 

'  Yes ;  I  have  an  indistinct  remembrance  of  him  :  a  pale-faced 
man,  with  reddish  hair  and  spectacles.  I  don't  think  I  liked  him, 
Roger  ;  his  manners  were  so  subservient.' 

'  I  have  reasons  for  pretty  nearly  hating  him,'  returned  her  brother, 
with  unusual  vehemence,  '  for  he  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  mis- 
chief; and,  thanks  to  him,  I  am  the  scapegoat  of  all  my  father's 
wrath.' 

'  Do  you  mean  that  he  absolutely  dares  to  find  fault  with  you,  his 
master?'  asked  Alison  impetuously. 

'  Not  openly,  of  course ;  but  he  is  a  complete  adept  in  the  art  of 
innuendoes.  He  has  a  way  of  hinting  things  and  implying  blame  ; 
and  ever  since  I  found  out  a  little  scheme  of  his  and  frustrated  it 
the  fellow  has  been  my  enemy.' 

'  But,  Roger,  if  Fergusson  is  not  honest,  papa  ought  to  know  it. 
Things  should  not  be  allowed  to  go  on  in  this  way.' 

'That  is  what  I  say  to  myself  every  day,'  returned  Roger,  in  a 
hopeless  tone.  '  Fergusson  is  doing  our  business  no  end  of  harm, 
but  I  cannot  bring  my  father  to  see  it.     The  fact  is,  Ailie,'  dropping 


I   WANTED   TO   FIND   YOU,   DEAR.'  79 

his  voice  cautiously,  'the  poor  old  governor  is  just  a  bookworm, 
and  Nothing  else.  He  has  no  head  for  this  sort  of  thing,  and 
Fergusson,  who  is  clever  and  shifty  in  his  way,  makes  a  tool  of 
him,  and  has  got  influence  over  him.  He  believes  all  that  Fer- 
gusson tells  him,  though  he  is  only  a  low-bred,  half-educated  fellow 
— a  mere  servant — and  yet  he  will  not  credit  me  with  common 
sense !  Things  go  wrong,  as  they  did  today.  Of  course,  Fer- 
gusson is  to  blame,  but  he  got  my  father's  ear,  and  then  it  was  all 
up  with  me.  It  is  my  belief  the  fellow  wants  to  get  rid  of  me 
altogether.  He  is  always  telling  my  father  what  a  pity  it  is  Mr. 
Roger  is  not  a  better  man  of  business,  but  that  I  am  young,  and 
may  improve,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and,  you  know,  it  tells  in 
the  long  run.' 

'  Of  course  it  does  ;  but  this  is  worse  than  I  expected.  How 
can  you  go  on  bearing  it  day  after  day?' 

*  Well,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to-night  to  go  on  bearing  it  as  well 
as  I  can.  I  have  been  sittmg  here  turning  the  whole  thing  over  in 
my  mind.  I  think  it  would  be  cowardly  going  off,  knowing  that  I 
should  leave  everything  in  Fergusson's  power.  I  mean  to  hold  on 
as  long  as  I  can,  and  circumvent  him.' 

'  But,  Roger,  if  you  should  fail — if  his  dishonesty  should  triumph? 
You  know  wicked  men  succeed  sometimes.' 

'Never  mind  all  that  A  man  must  do  his  duty,  whatever 
happens,  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  my  duty  is  not  to 
desert  what  may  be  a  sinking  ship.  I  mean  to  act  rightly  by  my 
father,  however  he  treats  me.  The  poor  old  man  has  an  awful  lot  of 
worry  to  bear.  He  is  pinning  his  faith  on  an  unscrupulous  rogue, 
and  he  will  find  out  his  mistake  before  long  ;  and  then,  I  suppose, 
I  shall  get  ri-hted ;  but  just  now — well,  life  might  be  a  deal 
pleasanter,'  giving  Nettle  an  inadvertent  kick  as  he  delivered  him- 
self of  this  sentiment. 

'  I  wish  Aunt  Diana  did  know,'  observed  Alison  quietly. 

'  On  your  peril ■'  he  began   hotly.     But  she  stopped  him  at 

once. 

*I  have  given  you  my  word,  Roger;  there  is  no  need  for  you  to 
excite  yourself.  I  only  wanted  her  to  advise  you  as  I  do.  Oh, 
Roger,  I  never  felt  so  proud  of  you  before.' 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  the  surprised  flush  that  swept  over  the 
young  man's  face,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  grasp  of  Alison's 
little  hand  on  his  arm. 


80  AUNT   DIANA. 

*  I  think  this  is  real  heroism,  Roger.  No,  don't  whistle,  it  is 
rude  when  I  am  talking  to  you.  You  have  preached  a  nice  little 
sermon  to  me  to-night,  dear,  and  I  feel  all  the  better  for  it.  It  has 
made  me  less  discontented  and  unhappy  to  know  how  you  are  bear- 
ing things.     We  must  help  each  other,  Roger,  you  and  I.' 

'  Oh,  things  won't  be  half  so  bad  now  you  are  at  home,'  he 
returned,  evidently  touched  by  her  honest  sympathy.  '  It  is  only 
unbearable  when  one  has  not  a  soul  to  take  notice  of  one,  when 
every  one  seems  at  sixes  and  sevens  in  the  house.  Hark  !  is  not 
that  Rudel  ?'  as  tlie  clumsy  imitation  of  a  blackbird's  whistle  sounded 
near  them.  'AH  right,  old  fellow,  here  we  are,  and  I  only  hope  you 
have  come  to  tell  me  supper  is  ready,  for  I  am  half-starved.' 

'  Oh,  you've  found  him,'  was  Rudel's  greeting.  '  There  is  nothing 
like  a  girl's  cheek,  after  all.  Well,  I  hope  you  have  cheered  him  up 
a  bit.  Come  along,  old  fellow  ;  father  is  shut  up  in  his  study,  and 
Missie  is  with  him,  finishing  her  novel ;  but,  as  Mother  Leigh  is  still 
up,  old  Nanny  thought  you  had  better  take  your  supper  in  the 
kitchen  ;  she  has  sent  the  other  lassies  to  bed,  and  Missie  might 
come  prying  into  the  schoolroom.  I  thought  you  would  not  mind, 
just  for  once,  Roger.' 

'  My  good  lad,  I  mind  nothing  if  I  can  get  rid  of  this  feeling  of 
famine.  I  am  as  cold  as  charity,  too.  Give  me  your  hand,  Ailie ; 
you  will  not  walk  safely  in  the  dark  without  my  help.  Nettle,  go 
back  to  your  master.'  And,  speaking  cheerily,  Roger  hurried  his 
companions  over  the  bridge  into  the  dark  garden,  and  in  another 
minute  they  were  all  three  in  the  great  stone  kitchen  of  The  Holms, 
with  its  bright  fire  shining  on  the  brass  and  pewter  that  garnished  the 
huge  dresser. 

'  Coom,  Master  Roger  ! '  exclaimed  old  Nanny,  as  she  drew  a 
little  black  table  before  the  fire,  and  placed  on  it  a  Yorkshire  pie 
and  a  knuckle  of  ham,  with  a  breakfast  cup  of  savoury  coffee,  'eat 
and  drink  like  a  gude  lad,  and  bring  your  bonny  looks  back;'  for 
old  Nanny  had  lived  there  before  Roger  was  born,  and  they  were 
children  still  in  her  eyes. 

Roger  did  not  need  a  second  invitation.  Rudel  watched  him 
with  delight  as  he  fell  upon  the  viands.  Nanny  gave  Alison  some 
coffee  to  warm  her,  for  she  looked  cold  and  tired,  and  they  soon 
grew  more  cheerful  as  they  gathered  round  the  fire,  chatting  with 
each  other  and  Nanny. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  in  some  respects  it  passed  tran- 


'I   WANTED   TO   FIND   YOU,   DEAR.'  8 1 

qiiilly  with  the  family  at  The  Holms.  Rudel  had  put  on  his  best 
behaviour  with  his  Sunday  jacket,  and  Mabel  looked  unusually 
am /able.  Nevertheless,  a  few  words  exchanged  with  Roger,  as  they 
stood  at  the  gate  waiting  for  Miss  Leigh  and  Poppie  to  join  them 
on  their  way  to  church,  increased  Alison's  secret  burden  of  anxiety. 

'  Is  not  papa  ready  ?'  she  had  asked  Roger. 

He  looked  at  her  rather  gravely — 'So  you  were  waiting  for  him? 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  Ailie,  father  seldom  comes  to  church  now.  He 
has  been  growing  more  irregular  during  the  past  year,  and  now  not 
even  Missie  can  induce  him  to  come.' 

Alison's  grieved  '  Roger  ! '  was  all  she  ventured  to  say ;  but  a 
tight  sense  of  oppression  seemed  to  gather  round  her  heart. 

It  was  a  painful  contrast  to  return  to  The  Holms  and  find  Mr. 
Merle,  in  his  old  velveteen  coat  and  slippers,  standing  on  the  thres- 
hold of  his  study.  Alison  had  no  idea  how  full  of  reproach  her 
eyes  were  as  she  went  up  and  kissed  him. 

'  Dear  papa,  I  wish  you  had  been  with  us,'  she  said  softly  ;  *we 
have  had  such  a  beautiful  sermon  from  Mr.  Herbert.' 

'  Oh,  I  have  heard  plenty  of  sermons  in  my  life,'  he  returned 
brusquely  ;  '  one  may  get  too  much  of  a  good  thing.'  But  though 
he  answered  her  in  this  cool,  sarcastic  fashion,  something  in  the 
innocent  wistfulness  of  the  brown  eyes  raised  to  his  seemed  to  stir 
his  slumbering  conscience,  and,  with  a  muttered  excuse  of  a  head- 
ache and  being  busy,  he  turned  away  and  shut  himself  into  his 
study. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ROGER    ENJOYS    HIS   BREAKFAST. 

'ere  beglnneth  the  first  chapter  of  Alison's  failures,'  whispered 
Alison,  in  a  funny  little  voice,  as  she  encountered  Roger  on  her 
way  downstairs  on  Monday  morning,  and  she  laughed  merrily 
as  she  shook  her  key  basket  exultantly  in  his  face.  Roger 
opened  his  eyes  very  widely  at  this,  then  he  stepped  back  a 
few  paces  and  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

*  However  did  you  get  possession  of  that  thing  ? '  he  exclaimed. 
'  Do  you  know,  Ailie,  my  dear,  that  shabby  little  brown  basket  has 
been  a  bone  of  contention  between  Miss  Leigh  and  Missie  for  the 
last  month.  Miss  Leigh  clings  to  it  as  her  sole  hope,  and  refuses  to 
give  it  up.  It  has  ended  by  Missie's  neatly  abstracting  it  at  night. 
She  has  done  it  three  or  four  times.  Poor  Miss  Leigh  !  I  verily 
believe  this  has  been  the  last  straw  that  has  broken  the  camel's  back. 
She  has  grown  quite  pale  and  thin  over  it.' 

'Yes,  I  know.  Poppie  told  me  all  about  it.  Well,'  in  an  amused 
tone,  *  I  have  only  paid  Missie  in  her  own  coin.  Thanks  to  my  good 
habits,  I  was  dressed  before  she  thought  of  waking  ;  so  I  stole  in,  got 
my  key  basket,  and  wished  Missie  good  morning  at  the  same  time. 
I  am  afraid  she  will  come  down  dreadfully  cross.' 

'  As  though  that  were  anything  new,'  returned  Roger  contemp- 
tuously, as  he  took  up  the  paper  and  retired  with  it  to  the  window, 
while  Alison  busied  herself  with  the  coffee  pot.  She  thought  he  was 
too  much  engrossed  with  his  news  to  pay  attention  to  her  movements. 
She  little  knew  the  quiet  looks  that  followed  her  as  she  flitted  about 
the  room,  placing  chairs,  arranging  the  breakfast-table,  giving  little 
finishing  touches.  She  even  brought  in  a  vase  of  flowers  from  the 
other  room. 

'  I  do  not  think  any  meal  looks  well  without  flowers,'  she  said 
cheerfully.     *  If  I  were  ever  so  poor,  I  would  go  without  things  and 


ROGER  ENJOYS  HIS  BREAKFAST.  83 

buy  a  plant  or  a  basket  of  ferns  to  set  off  my  table.     Ever  since  I 
have  been  at  home  I  have  missed  flowers  in  the  dining-room.' 

Roger's  answer  was  an  inexplicable  sort  of  grunt.  Flowers  were 
not  much  in  his  line.  He  liked  to  see  them  '  all  a-growing  and 
a-blowing,'  as  he  often  said,  but  he  hated  to  assist  at  what  he  termed 
'  a  wholesale  slaughter  of  the  innocents ' ;  and  it  was  a  favourite 
theory  of  his  that  things  were  best  in  their  places,  and  that  he  never 
could  rid  himself  of  the  idea  that  plants  had  feeling  as  well  as  life, 
and  that  those  feelings  could  be  wounded.  He  always  groaned  over 
a  dismembered  rose-bush,  and  would  insist  that  not  even  a  turk's-cap 
enjoyed  decapitation,  and  that  a  lily  shed  white  blood  when  she  was 
gathered  from  her  stalk.  But,  in  spite  of  this  Philistine  fancy,  a 
subtle  sense  of  comfort  stole  into  the  young  man's  heart  as  he  watched 
his  sister's  brisk  movements.  Alison's  graceful  young  figure  was 
such  a  contrast  to  poor  Miss  Leigh,  with  her  fussy  ways  and  mourn- 
ful voice.  Miss  Leigh  always  rattled  the  spoons ;  her  long  black 
draperies  seemed  in  everybody's  way.  Latterly  she  had  retired  from 
taking  any  active  part  at  the  breakfast-table.  Missie  had  absolutely 
routed  her  from  the  field.  The  result  had  been  disastrous  as  regards 
their  comfort.  Miss  Leigh's  coffee  had  been  good,  though  she 
poured  it  out  with  such  a  lugubrious  face.  She  had  been  punctual, 
too,  as  befitted  an  instructress  of  youth ;  but  latterly  Missie  had 
rushed  down  at  the  last  moment  sleepy  and  cross,  and,  after  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  of  bustle  and  fault-finding,  her  long-suffering  brothers 
found  themselves  furnished  with  weak  or  gritty  coffee,  for  which 
Missie  was  never  to  blame  :  there  was  something  the  matter  with  the 
strainer,  the  water  had  not  boiled — Nanny,  every  one  was  in  fault, 
except  lazy  Missie,  who  did  so  enjoy  her  morning  nap.  Roger  had 
a  presentiment  that  the  coffee  would  be  good  this  morning,  and  that, 
though  he  was  no  gourmand,  he  would  undoubtedly  enjoy  his  break- 
fast if  Alison  sat  smiling  at  him  behind  the  urn.  He  had  often 
puzzled  himself  why  Missie,  a  fine,  healthy  girl,  looked  so  heavy-eyed 
and  unamiable  in  the  morning.  Roger,  who  was  a  bit  of  a  philo- 
sopher in  his  way,  and  who  sometimes  speculated  on  the  future,  as 
young  men  will,  often  vowed  to  himself  that  he  would  never  choose 
his  wife  from  a  ballroom.  Girls  were  amiable  enough  there,  and  the 
majority  contrived  to  look  pretty.  The  way  to  judge  of  a  girl  was 
to  see  her  in  the  morning  sunlight.  Roger  had  a  shrewd  notion  that 
the  girl  he  could  fancy  must  look  bright  and  fresh  and  sweet  at  that 
hour  of  the  day ;  a  sluggish  and  lethargic  nature  would  not  suit  his  ; 


84  AUNT   DIANA. 

for,  in  common  with  many  orvlinary  young  mei,  his  standard  for  his 
future  wife  was  proportionately  high  ;  for  there  is  nothing  that  men 
wor^^hip  more  in  women  than  goodness  and  moral — not  mental — 
excellence. 

He  roused  himself  from  these  reflections  at  an  unwonted  sound  on 
the  stairs. 

*  If  it  were  not  perfectly  incredible,  I  should  say  that  was  Rudel's 
footstep,'  he  observed  in  a  doubtful  tone. 

*  Oh,  yes,  it  is  Rudel,'  returned  Alison  brightly.  She  was  deter- 
mined to  be  cheerful  to-day,  whatever  happened,  and  to  put  herself 
and  her  feelings  in  the  background  until  night,  and  then  perhaps  she 
might  indulge  herself  with  a  groan  or  two,  if  things  were  pretty  bad. 
'  I  woke  him,  and  made  him  promise  to  get  up.  Miss  Leigh  says  he 
has  got  into  sad  ways. — Good  boy,'  as  Rudel  entered,  looking  very 
much  pleased  at  himself,  and  he  bore  without  making  a  very  wry 
face  his  sister's  kiss  on  his  forehead.  Poppie,  who  came  in  a  moment 
afterwards  with  Miss  Leigh,  was  not  quite  so  reticent. 

'  What  is  that  for?  '  she  asked,  with  a  child's  innocency  of  grammar, 
but  in  much  surprise,  as  Alison  kissed  her  warmly,  and  said — '  Good- 
morning,  Poppie  dear,' 

'  Poppie  means  that  we  are  not  accustomed  to  these  little  civilities,' 
put  in  Roger,  as  Alison  looked  perplexed  for  a  moment;  'nobody 
says  good-morning  to  anybody  else  at  The  Holms,  except  Miss  Leigh 
and  I;  w^e  always  do,  don't  we?'  shaking  hands  with  her  as  he 
spoke.     'Father  just  gives  an  inclusive  good-morning  at  the  door.' 

'  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  much  shocked,  Alison,'  observed  Miss 
Leigh  mournfully.  '  Mabel  sets  Rudel  and  Poppie  such  a  bad 
example  in  this;  no  one  thinks  of  such  a  thing  except  Mr.  Roger, 
and  he  is  always  so  very  thoughtful.' 

'  Oh,  we  are  a  bad  lot,  ain't  we,  Missie  ? '  began  Rudel  in  his 
rough  fashion  ;  but  Alison  promptly  silenced  him  by  pre])aring  to  say 
grace.  Perhaps  this  was  also  an  innovation,  for  Poppie  only  stared 
at  her.  Alison  took  no  notice  of  the  little  girl's  or  of  Rudel's  in- 
voluntary grimace  ;  she  would  bring  them  into  better  order  presently  ; 
she  had  already  heard  from  Miss  Leigh  how  morning  prayers  had 
been  discontinued.  Things  were  becoming  very  lax  at  The  Holms, 
in  s])ite  of  the  governess's  efforts  to  preserve  the  old  discipline. 

When  Mr.  Merle  came  into  the  room  a  few  minutes  later,  he  seemed 
quite  surprised  at  the  unwonted  cheerfulness.  He  nodded  to  Alison, 
and  then  took  up  his  letters ;  but  she  was  not  satisfied. 


ROGER   ENJOYS    HIS   BREAKFAST.  85 

_ '  You  have  not  kissed  me,  papa,'  she  said  as  she  carried  him  round 
his  cup  of  coffee. 

'Oh,  I  thought  only  Pussie  cared  for  kisses,'  he  said  good- 
humouredly  ;  '  Poppie  never  comes  to  me  lor  one,' 

Poppie  reddened,  and  bent  over  her  plate  in  much  confusion. 
Roger,  who  was  next  to  her,  savv  the  child's  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

'  I  expect  Poppie  is  afraid  of  bothering  you,'  he  observed.  '  You 
would  like  father  to  kiss  you  sometimes,  as  he  does  Missie,'  he  said, 
kindly. 

'  Is  that  true,  my  little  girl  ? '  asked  Mr.  Merle,  who  had  just  caught 
sight  of  Poppie's  quivermg  lip.  The  poor  child,  who  was  very 
sensitive,  was  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  tears;  but  Alison  happily 
interposed. 

'  Papa  is  too  busy  to  think  much  about  such  things.  You  must 
go  round  to-morrow  and  ask  him  for  one,  as  I  did  to-day ;  he  won't 
refuse  either  of  us,'  and  she  looked  laughingly  at  him  from  behind 
her  urn. 

The  brightness  seemed  to  rouse  him  effectually.  He  had  looked 
pale  and  weary  when  he  had  entered  the  room,  but  good-humour  is 
infectious. 

'  You  look  very  nice,  my  dear,'  he  said  approvingly,  *  I  like  to 
see  you  there,  Alison.' 

'I  like  to  see  her  there,  too,'  observed  Roger  boldly;  'it  is  her 
proj^er  place.'  Missie,  who  had  just  opened  the  door,  caught  both 
these  remarks  ;  they  did  not  evidently  conduce  to  her  amiability. 
She  gave  Alison  a  withering  glance  as  she  passed  by  her,  to  greet  her 
father;  and,  taking  no  notice  of  her  or  the  others,  desired  Rudel 
rather  crossly  to  give  her  more  room,  and  began  her  breakfast  rather 
sulkily. 

But  for  once  her  humours  were  disregarded.  No  one  troubled  them- 
selves about  her ;  and  the  conversation  was  renewed  with  scarcely 
a  break.  Perhaps  both  Roger  and  Alison  were  doing  their  best  to 
carry  it  on,  but  their  sense  of  effort  was  lost  in  the  general  good. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  and  Rudel  had  rushed  off  to  school, 
and  Mr.  Merle  and  Roger  had  gone  over  to  the  mill,  Alison  asked 
her  sister  pleasantly  how  she  proposed  to  spend  the  morning. 

Mabel  tossed  her  pretty  head  at  the  inquiry. 

'That  is  my  affair,'  she  answered,  very  rudely.  'I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  give  an  account  of  myself,  to  gratify  people's  curiosity.  I 
may  as  well  tell  you,  once  for  all,  that  I  dislike  interference.' 


86  AUNT   DIANA. 

Alison  felt  inclined  to  laugh — there  was  something  comical  in 
Missie's  mode  of  showing  her  temper  ;  but  she  knew  nothing  pro- 
vokes people  more  than  to  laugh  at  them,  so  she  prudently  refrained 
from  showing  her  mirth.  *  1  am  just  going  round  the  house  with 
Miss  Leigh  while  Poppie  prepares  her  lessons,'  she  returned,  as  coolly 
as  though  Missie  had  given  her  a  fair  answer.  '  In  another  hour  I 
shall  be  quite  at  your  convenience,  if  you  would  like  to  practise  with 
me.' 

'Thank  you,' returned  Missie,  with  freezing  politeness.  *  I  have 
no  need  to  trespass  on  your  valuable  time  ;  Eva  will  be  here  soon.' 

'  Oh,  very  well,'  returned  Alison,  still  in  perfect  good-humour ; 
'  then  I  will  get  my  easel  ready  in  the  schoolroom  and  paint  a  little, 
if  Miss  Leigh  will  allow  me.' 

'  Of  course  you  must  paint  in  the  schoolroom,'  returned  her  sister 
tartly;  '  I  suppose  you  do  not  intend  to  litter  up  this  room  with  that 
great  ugly  easel ;  and  Eva  and  I  will  be  in  the  drawing-room.' 

'  I  dare  say  when  I  have  finished  you  will  let  me  join  you  there,' 
replied  Alison,  in  a  conciliatory  tone.  As  she  was  bent  on  making 
Miss  Hardwick's  acquaintance  for  her  own  purposes,  she  took  no 
notice  of  sundry  remarks  in  an  undertone  that  were  fully  meant  to 
reach  her  ears,  about  people  never  knowing  when  they  were  not 
wanted,  and  two  was  company  and  three  none.  She  knew  Missie 
was  only  revenging  herself  for  her  lost  dignity  and  the  two  speeches 
that  had  been  overheard.  She  must  give  her  time  to  recover  herself. 
Discretion  is  often  the  best  part  of  valour,  so  she  w^ent  out  of  the 
room  as  quickly  as  possible,  with  the  wordy  missiles  still  flying  about 
her,  and  laughed  a  little  when  she  got  outside — though  the  tears  were 
in  her  eyes  too. 

'  How  absurd  ! '  she  said  to  herself  '  How  small,  and  stupid,  and 
paltiy  it  all  is  !  I  do  think  there  is  something  so  mean  in  little  tem- 
pers. Gnats  are  mean  little  insects,  but  how  they  sting  ;  so  do  midges 
sometimes.  Avmt  I)i  was  right  when  she  once  told  me  that  tongues 
were  too  often  like  lancets.    They  do  puncture  pretty  deeply  too.' 

Alison  was  soon  too  busy  to  remember  Missie's  existence.  Miss 
Leigh,  who  was  desirous  of  resigning  her  household  duties  into 
Alison's  hands,  keeping  herself  in  the  background  and  only  acting 
as  aide-de-camp,  was  soon  explaining  to  the  bewildered  girl  all  her 
little  pet  theories  with  regard  to  kitchen  and  store-room. 

Alison  listened  patiently,  but  she  became  more  perplexed  every 
minute. 


ROGER   ENJOYS   HIS   BREAKFAST.  8/ 

*  I  have  never  been  used  to  housekeeping,'  she  said  at  last,  in  an 
alarmed  voice.  '  I  have  been  too  much  engaged  with  my  studies  at 
Moss-side.  Aunt  Diana  taught  me  a  little,  but  not  much ;  she  said 
I  was  too  young  for  that  sort  of  thing.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  make 
dreadful  mistakes  if  you  leave  all  these  things  to  me.' 

'My  dear  Alison,'  returned  the  governess  solemnly,  'I  have  made 
up  my  mind  that  my  proper  place  is  in  the  schoolroom.  As  long 
as  you  and  Mabel  were  too  young,  I  promised  your  father  to  super- 
intend his  household,  but  the  duties  are  too  onerous  for  me  under 
the  present  circumstances.  It  is  true  you  are  young,  not  much  over 
eighteen ;  but,  my  dear,  some  girls  are  married  at  that  age  -  not  that 
I  hold  with  youthful  marriages,  far  from  it ;  I  only  say  this  to  en- 
courage you.  You  are  the  eldest  daughter,  and  the  rightful  mistress 
of  the  house.  I  know  your  aunt  will  approve  of  my  resigning  every- 
thing; there  is  nothing  I  will  not  do  to  help  you,  you  may  command 
me  in  everything,  so  that  you  relieve  me  from  a  responsibility  that 
is  too  much  for  me.'  Miss  Leigh's  lip  trembled  as  she  spoke,  and 
her  eyes  were  so  full  of  beseeching  wistfulness  that  Alison  was  quite 
touched. 

'  Oh,  don't  look  so  unhappy  about  it,'  she  exclaimed,  with  sudden 
youthful  energy,  'I  will  do  all  I  can.  I  am  afraid  papa  will  be 
dreadfully  dissatisfied  with  his  new  housekeeper,  but  that  cannot 
be  helped,  and,  of  course,  I  shall  improve ;  now,  cheer  up,'  kissing 
the  governess's  thin  cheek;  'you  shall  sit  in  your  nice  schoolroom 
and  teach  Poppie,  and  I  shall  come  in  about  fifty  times  in  a  morning 
to  ask  your  advice.  When  I  get  into  a  muddle  you  will  have  to 
come  to  my  assistance,  and  you  shall  teach  me  to  mend.  I  am 
afraid  I  am  not  very  clever  with  my  needle,  and  we  shall  be  a  model 
household.' 

'Oh,  my  dear,' returned  Miss  Leigh,  as  she  wiped  away  a  quiet 
tear  or  two,  '  if  you  only  knew  how  much  good  you  do  me  !  Things 
have  been  dreadful  lately.  If  your  poor  dear  mother  only  knew  the 
trial  that  Mabel  would  be  to  us  all,  and  your  dear  father  never 
entering  a  church,  or  keeping  the  Sabbath-day  holy — no  family 
prayers,  nothing  to  show  we  are  a  Christian  household.  I  sometimes 
used  to  fear  a  judgment  would  overtake  us,  for  such  bickerings  and 
quarrels  and  unbrotherly  love  would  be  more  befitting  to  the  heathen.' 

'It  is  very  sad,'  replied  Alison,  with  a  sigh,  as  Miss  Leigh  paused 
in  her  somewhat  incoherent  lament ;  '  but  it  is  no  use  fretting  our- 
selves over  past  troubles ;  what  we  have  to  do  is  to  try  and  make 


88  AUNT  DIANA. 

things  a  little  better.  We  must  be  thankful  for  small  mercies,  as 
Roger  was  for  his  cup  of  hot  coffee.'  And  Alison  laughed  again  as 
she  remembered  how  Roger  proposed  saying  his  grace  over  again, 
for  his  first  enjoyable  breakfast  for  two  years. 

When  Miss  Leigh  and  Poppie  went  back  to  the  schoolroom, 
Alison  settled  herself  and  her  painting  apparatus  in  the  farthest 
window,  and  tried  to  forget  all  her  perplexities  in  hard  work ;  but 
while  Poppie  droned  over  her  lessons  Alison's  thoughts  would  stray 
to  a  far  different  scene — to  a  shady  room  full  of  sweet  flower  scents, 
with  a  tall  figure  standing  before  an  easel.  She  could  see  the  grand, 
still  face  intent  on  its  work ;  the  firm  white  hand  moving  so  deftly 
over  the  canvas,  then  a  little  gleam  of  fun  coming  into  the  grey 
eyes  J  'always  dreaming,  Ailie ;  the  night  is  the  time  for  dreams, 
little  one,'  she  seemed  to  hear  in  the  crisp  tones  she  remembered  so 
well,  '  Oh,  Aunt  Di,  Aunt  Di,  if  I  were  only  painting  beside  you 
now  ! '  she  thought,  with  a  sharp,  involuntary  pain. 

'Oh,  how  beautiful!  if  I  could  only  paint  like  that.'  The  words 
were  spoken,  with  a  sigh,  just  behind  her.  Alison  started ;  she  had 
been  dreaming  indeed ;  the  mid-day  sun  was  streaming  into  the 
room,  Poppie  had  put  away  her  lesson  books,  and  had  run  off; 
and  Miss  Leigh's  place  was  empty ;  and  standing  just  behind 
Alison's  chair  was  a  young  lady  dressed  very  simply  in  a  grey  linen 
dress  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat. 

At  Alison's  obvious  start,  the  young  lady  blushed  and  seemed 
confused. 

'Oh,'  she  stammered,  'I  am  afraid  I  startled  you.  You  were  so 
busy  that  you  did  not  see  me  come  in,  I  have  been  watching  you 
ever  so  long.' 

'  I  must  have  been  painting  in  my  sleep,'  returned  Alison,  with  a 
frank  laugh  ;  but  as  she  put  aside  her  palette  and  rose,  she  cast 
a  scrutinizing  glance  on  the  young  girl  beside  her. 

She  was  a  slight,  pale  girl,  evidently  a  little  younger  than  herself; 
somewhat  plain  in  feature,  but  with  a  pleasing,  gentle  expression, 
though  a  painful  hesitation  in  her  speech,  almost  amounting  to  a 
stammer,  marred  the  effect  of  a  singularly  sweet  voice.  Even  in 
that  first  moment,  Alison,  who  had  a  true  artistic  taste  in  all  matters 
pertaining  to  dress,  wondered  at  the  bad  judgment  that  could  select 
dull,  neutral  tints  for  a  complexion  so  colourless;  the  large  hat 
overshadowed  her  features,  and  hid  the  soft  fair  hair  that  was  her 
only  beauty. 


ROGER   ENJOYS   HIS   BREAKFAST.  89 

'You  are  Miss  Hardwick,  I  suppose?'  observed  Alison,  with  a 
shrewd  guess  that  this  was  the  young  sister  of  whom  Miss  Leigh 
spoke. 

'  Not  Miss  Hardwick,'  corrected  the  younger  girl ;  '  I  am  only 
Anna.  Eva  and  Mabel  sent  me  in  here  because  they  wanted  to 
talk  to  each  other,  and  they  always  find  me  in  the  way.  Will  it 
trouble  you  if  I  stop  here  a  little  and  watch  you  painting?' 

*  Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  We  shall  be  nice  company  for  each  other,' 
returned  Alison,  in  a  friendly  voice.  'I  have  only  this  little  bit  of 
background  to  finish,  and  then  I  shall  be  free  to  talk  to  you.' 

'  Oh,  it  does  not  matter  about  talking,'  rejoined  Anna  hastily. 
*  I  shall  be  quite  happy  if  you  will  only  let  me  sit  and  look  at  you. 
I  never  like  to  feel  in  the  way,  and  it  makes  me  so  uncomfortable  to 
be  with  Eva  and  Mabel.  They  are  always  whispering  to  each  other 
when  I  am  in  the  room.     I  always  feel  they  want  to  get  rid  of  me.* 

'  That  is  not  a  pleasant  feeling,'  observed  Alison,  somewhat 
amused  at  the  childish  way  in  which  Anna  aired  her  little  woes. 
She  had  seated  herself  in  a  low  chair,  and  her  iiat  lay  in  her  lap. 
Alison  had  a  full  view  of  the  neatly-coiled  hair;  it  was  very  beautiful 
in  colour  and  texture,  and  might  have  been  arranged  with  greater 
advantage,  instead  of  being  brushed  back  so  unbecomingly  from  the 
face.  Evidently  vanity  was  not  Anna's  besetting  sin,  or  else  she 
had  too  humble  an  estimate  of  herself  to  take  much  pains  with  her 
appearance. 

Alison  painted  for  a  few  minutes  silently ;  she  was  thinking. 
Then  she  laid  aside  her  brush. 

*If  you  will  excuse  me  a  moment,  I  want  to  speak  to  your  sister 
and  Mabel,'  she  said,  rather  quickly,  '  and  then,  if  you  like,  we  will 
go  and  sit  in  the  garden  until  luncheon  is  ready.' 


CHAPTER    XI. 

'she  is  a  nice,  simple  little  thing.* 

i^^/TissiE  looked  up  with  a  frown  as  her  sister  entered  the  room, 
but  AHson  took  no  notice  of  her.  She  walked  up  straight  to 
Miss  Hardwick,  and  held  out  her  hand  with  one  of  her 
pleasant  smiles. 

'I  have  just  made  acquaintance  with  your  sister,'  she  said, 
with  quiet  tact ;  '  we  are  going  in  the  garden,  as  the  house  feels  so 
close  this  lovely  day.  I  shall  be  so  glad,  and  I  am  sure  Mabel  will 
be,  too,  if  you  will  both  stay  with  us  to  luncheon.' 

Missie  stared  at  her,  as  though  she  could  not  believe  her  ears, 

*  I  thought  you  knew  better,  Alison,'  she  interrupted  pettishly, 
before  her  friend  could  speak.  '  Dear  papa  is  so  nervous  and  worried 
about  business  and  Roger's  wretched  management  that  he  is  not 
able  to  bear  luncheon  visitors.  Eva  understands  this  ;  don't  you, 
dear?' 

'Oh,  yes,  darling,'  returned  Miss  Hardwick,  with  effusion;  'but 
perhaps  your  sister,  being  a  stranger  and  not  quite  used  to  all  the 
ways  at  The  Holms,  has  made  a  mistake.     That  is  very  natural.' 

'  Oh,  no,'  returned  Alison,  trying  to  keep  cool,  though  she  was 
inwardly  nettled  by  both  the  girls'  remarks.  '  I  am  making  no  mis- 
take. Papa  will  not  be  in  to  luncheon,  or  my  brother  either,  as  they 
have  business  a  little  way  out  of  town.  So  I  thought,  as  we  should 
be  quite  alone,  that  it  would  be  a  good  opportunity,  Mabel,  for  you 
to  have  your  friends.' 

Missie's  pink  cheeks  became  crimson  with  vexation  ;  it  aggravated 
her  to  see  Alison  taking  upon  herself  so  quietly  the  duties  of  the 
mistress  of  the  house  and  dispensing  hospitality  ;  and  she  was  still 
more  injured  that  her  father's  movements  had  not  been  first  notified 
to  herself  She  took  no  notice  of  her  sister's  remarks,  and  added 
no  word,  as   Miss    Hardwick   accepted   the  invitation   with  great 


'she  is  a  nice,  simple  little  thing.'  91 

alacrity.  When  Alison  left  them,  after  a  few  more  words,  she 
listened  reluctantly  to  Eva's  criticisms. 

'  I  had  no  idea  your  sister  was  such  a  stylish  person,*  she  said, 
when  the  door  closed  on  Alison ;  *  she  has  fine  eyes  and  a  good 
figure,  and  she  knows  how  to  suit  her  own  style  in  dress.  She  is 
not  so  pretty  as  you,  darling,  of  course  ' — as  Missie's  sulkiness  was 
obvious,  and  must  be  soothed  away  at  any  cost — '  but  she  has  some 
claims  to  good  looks.' 

Alison  did  not  return  these  moderate  compliments ;  she  was  not 
at  all  attracted  by  Miss  Hardwick.  She  was  a  large,  heavy-looking 
girl,  rather  handsome,  but  her  face  had  no  play  of  expression,  and 
her  manner  was  decidedly  artificial. 

If  she  would  only  have  let  herself  alone,  she  would  have  been  a 
good-looking  creature,  for  nature  had  endowed  her  with  many 
beauties,  but  the  last  thing  that  ever  entered  Eva  Hardwick's  head 
was  to  let  herself  or  any  one  else  alone,  until  she  had  transmuted 
herself  and  them  into  fashionable  dolls.  Her  figure  would  have 
been  good,  only  artifice  had  reduced  her  waist  until  it  was  too  small 
to  match  the  breadth  of  the  shoulders,  and  so  the  lines  of  beauty 
were  lost ;  the  pretty,  fair  hair,  that  was  really  as  soft  and  fine  as 
silk,  was  roughed  and  tangled,  and  fringed  with  infinite  pains  until  it 
was  reduced  to  the  fashionable  untidiness  of  the  day. 

*  Oh,  if  I  could  only  dress  them  both  !  I  am  sure  their  mother 
would  not  recognise  them,'  thought  Alison,  as  she  went  back  to 
Anna ;  '  the  one  thinks  too  much  and  the  other  too  little  of  her 
appearance.'  And  she  thought  gratefully  of  the  wisdom  that  had 
taught  her  to  see  no  beauty  in  anything  unnatural,  and  that  bade  her 
be  no  mere  copyist  in  fashion,  but  to  choose  her  own  style  and  have 
courage  to  abide  by  it. 

'  Be  as  modern  as  you  like,'  Miss  Carrington  would  say  ;  '  nothing 
is  so  hateful  as  eccentricity  in  women ;  and,  my  dear,  do  not  be 
shocked  at  what  I  am  going  to  say,  but  a  woman  without  vanity  is  a 
monstrosity  in  nature.  It  is  your  duty  to  make  the  best  of  yourself, 
remember  that ;  no  one  ought  to  be  plainer  than  they  can  help,  for 
the  sake  of  other  people  ;  suit  your  dress  to  yourself,  not  yourself  to 
your  dress.  Do  not  turn  yourself  into  a  peg  to  hang  your  neighbour's 
clothes  on.  A  little  woman  in  a  big  plaid  always  seems  to  me  to 
have  soniething  wanting  in  her  intellect ;  she  has  no  brains  ;  she  is 
an  imbecile.  My  dear,  I  hope  better  things  of  you.  Cultivate  the 
true  art  of  dress.     When  you  choose  a  gown,  give  your  mind  to  it ; 


92  AUNT  DIANA. 

study  it  as  you  would  the  different  parts  of  a  picture.  Spend  little 
money,  less  time  ;  but  what  you  do,  do  thoroughly.  I  never  could 
bear  patchwork,  and  some  women  are  dreadfully  patched.' 

Alison  spent  a  pleasant  hour  with  her  new  friend  under  the  lime 
trees,  both  before  and  after  luncheon.  She  soon  grew  interested  in 
Anna's  artless  talk.  She  was  evidently  very  young  for  her  age  ; 
though  she  was  seventeen,  she  was  still  childish  in  manners.  Pro- 
bably she  had  been  repressed  and  kept  in  the  background  by  her 
sister. 

Eva  was  evidently  a  great  personage  in  Anna's  eyes  ;  she  spoke  of 
her  with  a  sort  of  admiring  awe.  Eva  was  so  handsome.  Did  not 
Miss  Merle  think  she  had  a  beautiful  complexion  and  lovely  hair  ? 
Then  she  was  so  clever ;  she  could  talk  French  as  well  as  a  Parisian. 
Cousin  Anthony  often  said  so.  Then  she  played  so  well,  and  sang 
such  difficult  German  and  Italian  songs.  She  was  sure  Miss  Merle 
would  enjoy  hearing  her.  And  she  painted  Christmas  cards,  and 
worked  in  crewels  so  exquisitely  ;  and  she  could  dance,  and  play 
tennis.  Cousin  Anthony  always  said  what  an  accomplished  creature 
she  was. 

*  I  dare  say  you  can  do  many  of  these  things,  too,'  suggested  AUson 
kindly,  when  Anna  had  run  through  the  gamut  of  her  sister's  per- 
fections. But  the  girl  shook  her  head,  and  a  cloud  passed  over  her 
gentle  face. 

'  Oh,  no ;  I  am  dreadfully  stupid.  Mamma  often  says  that  she 
does  not  know  how  she  could  have  such  a  daughter.  Mamma  likes 
people  to  be  clever  and  strong,  and  full  of  life;  she  says,  sometimes, 
that  I  am  such  a  low-spirited,  foolish  little  thing.' 

'Oh,  no,'  exclaimed  Alison  involuntarily;  'I  am  sure  she  could 
not  mean  that.'  But,  nevertheless,  she  conceived  a  strong  dislike  to 
Mrs.  Hardwick  from  that  moment.  She  knew  her  already,  by  re- 
putation, to  be  a  gay,  pleasure-loving  widow ;  but  she  had  also 
understood  that  she  was  a  good-natured  woman.  Alison  had  yet  to 
learn  that  even  good-natured  people  can  sometimes  be  hard  and 
unsympathetic  to  their  own  flesh  and  blood. 

Anna  had  retailed  her  mother's  opinion  in  a  most  matter-of-fact 
way  ;  she  was  far  too  used  to  be  depreciated  and  set  on  one  side  to 
be  sensitive  »)ver  it.  Alison's  kindness  and  warm  interest  had  put 
her  at  once  at  her  ease.  For  the  first  time  in  her  poor  litde  shady 
life,  she  experienced  the  pleasure  of  true  sympathy. 

'  It  is  so  good   of  you  to  let  me  talk  to  you,'  Anna  went  on. 


'SHE   IS   A   NICE,   SIMPLE   LITTLE   THING.'  93 

*  Mamma  and  Eva  say  I  am  such  a  chatterbox,  when  I  begin  to  ask 
them  questions.  I  think  I  am  fonder  of  talking  than  most  people. 
Anthony  says  that  makes  me  so  troublesome.' 

'  Who  is  Anthony?  '  queried  Alison,  a  little  curiously. 

'  Oh,  he  is  our  cousin  ;  he  is  staying  with  us  now.  Eva  says  it  is 
so  nice,  because  we  have  no  brothers,  and  he  can  take  us  about. 
Eva  and  he  are  great  friends  ;  she  always  calls  him  Tony.  He  is 
such  a  handsome  fellow,  with  a  big  black  moustache  like  a  cavalry 
officer.  He  is  in  the  army,  you  know.  I  am  dreadfully  frightened 
of  him,  because  he  laughs  at  me  ;  but  it  is  only  his  way,  he  means  to 
be  good-natured.' 

'  Tell  me  what  you  do  with  your  time  ? '  asked  Alison  quickly. 
She  was  not  particularly  interested  in  this  description  of  Anna's 
cousin. 

Anna's  blue  eyes  opened  rather  widely  at  this  ;  she  was  evidently 
surprised  at  the  question. 

'  My  time,'  she  repeated  helplessly,  as  though  it  were  a  new 
thought  that  she  had  anything  of  her  own  ;  indeed,  it  was  doubtful, 
if  the  truth  were  known,  whether  the  poor  child  really  possessed  an 
hour  for  her  private  use.  '  I  suppose  you  mean,  how  do  I  spend 
the  day  ? ' 

Alison  nodded. 

'  Oh,  I  don't  know,'  wrinkling  her  brow  ;  'that  is  how  mamma  and 
Eva  please  to  spend  it.  They  are  always  wanting  me  for  something. 
• — Once  upon  a  time,'  she  continued,  twisting  her  hands  a  little 
nervously—  she  had  all  sorts  of  nervous  ways — '  I  used  to  make  grand 
resolutions  ;  that  was  just  after  I  was  confirmed,'  dropping  her  voice 
a  liitle.  *I  made  up  my  mind  never  to  waste  a  minute.  I  would 
practise  and  read  something  solid,  and  do  a  little  work  for  the  poor, 
and  keep  it  up  even  after  I  had  finished  with  lessons  ;  but  I  found 
1  had  to  give  it  all  up.' 

'  But  that  was  a  pity,  was  it  not  ?  ' 

*  I  suppose  so ;  but  then  it  could  not  be  helped.  I  left  school 
nearly  a  year  ago,  because  the  doctor  said  I  was  too  delicate  to 
learn,  and  mamma  and  Eva  thought  it  did  not  matter,  because  I  was 
not  clever  ;  so  mamma  told  me  that  I  had  better  shut  up  my  books, 
as  I  made  such  a  poor  use  of  them,  and  do  the  best  I  could  to  help 
her  instead.' 

'Perhaps  that  was  wise,'  returned  Alison,  hardly  knowing  what  to  say. 

'  Of  course,  mamma  always  knows  best,'  replied  Anna,  drooping 


94  AUNT   DIANA. 

her  head  a  Httle ;  *  but  I  was  so  fond  of  my  History  and  Engh'sh 
Literature,  and  I  liked  sums,  and  Euclid  ;  and  I  was  just  beginning 
to  get  on  with  Latin.  Eva  says  I  ought  to  have  been  a  boy,  for  I 
never  can  learn  anything  suitable  for  a  lady.  I  am  stupid  at  French, 
and  I  play  badly.  And,  oh  dear !  if  only  one  could  make  oneselt 
clever,'  with  a  sigh. 

'  But  you  have  not  told  me  yet  what  you  do  with  your  day,'  said 
Alison,  with  playful  pertinacity. 

'  Oh,  I  do  litde  things  just  as  they  come  to  hand,'  returned  Anna, 
rather  dejectedly.  '  I  get  a  little  time  to  myself  before  breakfast, 
because  mamma  and  Eva  are  always  down  late.  I  read  then,  or  do 
some  Latin  ;  afterwards,  there  is  always  so  much  for  me  to  do.' 

'  What  kind  of  things  ?  ' 

'  Well,  there  are  the  plants  to  water  in  the  garden,  and  Eva's  birds 
to  feed  ;  and  mamma  has  always  some  fine  needlework  for  me  to  do, 
or  Eva  wants  a  dress  mended  or  some  lace  washed ;  then  sometimes 
there  are  the  china  and  ornaments  in  the  drawing-room,  or  the  books 
in  the  morning-room  to  dust,  or  Eva's  drawers  to  turn  out,  and 
flowers  to  arrange  for  the  luncheon  table,  and  little  odds  and  ends  of 
that  kind.  Then  perhaps  mamma  wants  me  to  do  some  errands  in 
the  town,  matching  silks  for  her  fancy  work ;  or  Eva  has  an  aiter- 
noon's  shopping,  and  then  she  likes  me  to  accompany  her.  I  often 
get  a  quiet  evening  when  they  are  out  at  some  party  ;  but  mamma 
expects  me  to  do  a  little  of  her  fancy  work  then.  She  and  Eva  are 
re-covering  the  drawing-room  chairs,  and  they  leave  the  plain  parts 
for  me.  I  am  fond  of  needlework,  but  it  is  a  little  dull  to  sit  alone 
of  an  evening.  I  think  I  should  like  a  nice  interesting  book  some- 
times, but  mamma  always  thinks  I  am  wasting  my  time.' 

Alison  prudently  refrained  from  all  comments,  but  she  inwardly 
exclaimed, — '  Oh,  you  poor  little  ill-used  child  !  This  mother  and 
sister  of  yours  are  turning  you  into  a  drudge.  You  have  positively 
no  life  of  your  own  at  all.' 

But  what  she  said  was, — 

'  I  think,  Anna — may  I  call  you  Anna  ?  you  look  so  young,  some- 
how— that  you  lead  a  very  useful,  self-denying  life.'  And  as  the 
girl  flushed  at  the  unexpected  praise,  she  continued  lightly,  'Now 
we  have  talked  all  this  time,  and  1  wonder  what  has  become  of  your 
sister  and  Mabel  ?  ' — for  the  two  had  sauntered  away,  arm-in-arm,  the 
moment  luncheon  was  over.  '  As  I  am  housekeeper — you  know  I 
have  come  home  to  make  myself  useful — 1  propose  that  we  have 


*THE  PLANTS  TO   WATER   IN    THK   GARDEN. 
95 


*SHE  IS  A  NICE,  SIMPLE  LITTLE  THING.'  97 

afternoon  tea  under  these  trees,  and  that  you  and  I,  with  Sarah's 
help,  should  prepare  a  little  surprise  for  them.  Will  not  Poppie  be 
delighted  ? ' 

Anna  might  have  been  a  child  from  the  way  she  clapped  her 
hands  ;  she  had  never  enjoyed  herself  so  much  in  all  her  life  as 
during  the  next  half-hour,  as  she  and  Alison  dragged  chairs  across 
the  lawn,  and  arranged  the  little  tea-table,  with  the  nice  basket  of 
hot  cakes  that  old  Nanny  had  prepared,  some  fresh  strawberries,  and 
a  little  vase  of  roses  in  the  centre. 

Even  Missie  looked  pleased  when,  on  returning  from  their  hot 
walk — for  they  had  gone  out  without  informing  any  one  of  their 
intentions — she  caught  sight  of  the  snowy  cloth  under  the  trees. 

*  That  is  really  a  good  idea,'  she  observed,  in  a  grudging  tone, 
however ;    but  Eva  very  nearly  made  her  cross   again   by   saying, 

*  How  delicious  of  your  sister !  I  really  would  hug  her  for  this. 
What  a  pity  we  never  thought  of  this  before,  dear  !  and  then  Tony 
might  have  joined  us.' 

Missie  never  praised  anything  heartily  in  which  she  had  not  had  a 
share. 

But  even  Missie  was  not  proof  against  the  pleasant  influence  of  the 
hour ;  Nanny's  cakes  were  so  good,  and  the  strawberries  so  cool  and 
refreshing  after  their  dusty  walk.  When  Roger  returned  from  his 
work,  an  hour  earlier  than  he  expected,  he  stood  quite  transfixed  on 
the  gravel  walk  ;  for  certainly  such  a  pleasant  little  picture  had  never 
been  seen  before  in  the  garden  of  The  Holms. 

Alison,  in  her  crisp  summer  gown  and  broad-brimmed  hat,  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  modern  Hebe  dispensing  nectar.  Missie, 
flushed  and  merry,  was  sitting  on  the  grass  beside  her  friend,  with 
Otter  between  them,  and  Rudel  on  the  other  side, — all  in  good 
humour ;  and  poor  little  pale  Anna,  for  whom  he  had  always  felt 
such  pity,  v;as  offering  a  saucerful  of  milk  to  Missie's  beloved  cat. 
Poppie  came  dancing  over  the  grass  to  meet  him,  and  caught  hold 
of  his  hand. 

'You  may  have  my  chair  by  Miss  Leigh,'  she  exclaimed  eagerly. 

•  Oh,  the  cakes  are  so  nice,  Roger,  and  there  are  two  left.' 

'  I  must  make  you  some  fresh  tea,  you  poor  tired  day  labourer,' 
observed  Alison,  as  Roger  threw  himself  into  the  wicker  chair,  and 
removed  his  hat. 

*  Oh,  let  me  do  it,'  exclaimed  Anna  eagerly.  *  I  know  the  way  to 
the  kitchen  quite  well.' 

G 


98  AUNT   DIANA. 

'Yes,  and  I  will  go,  too,'  added  Poppie,  'There  are  some  more 
strawberries,  I  know.' 

'  Bring  me  a  big  plateful,'  called  out  Roger,  as  Poppie  frisked 
away ;  but  he  looked  after  them  both  rather  curiously.  His  little 
friend  looked  different,  somehow,  he  thought.  Was  it  Alison,  he 
wondered,  who  had  put  those  coquettish-looking  roses  into  the  little 
grey  gown  ? 

Anna's  face  looked  dimpled  and  smiling,  Her  blue  eyes  quite 
shone  when  she  came  back.  She  and  Alison  and  Roger  had  a  long 
talk,  while  Miss  Leigh  listened  and  knitted  industriously.  Missie 
and  Eva  had  wandered  away  again — most  likely  to  avoid  Roger. 
He  had  addressed  Miss  Hardwick  with  studied  politeness,  but  she 
had  tossed  her  head  and  hardly  answered  him.  She  would  make 
no  terms  with  the  enemy  who  had  wounded  her  vanity  so  grievously. 

'We  will  take  one  more  turn,  darling,  and  then  we  must  really  go,' 
she  had  said  to  Missie ;  and  in  a  few  more  minutes  they  heard  her 
calling  for  Anna. 

'  Come,  Anna,  don't  dawdle.     We  must  really  go  now.' 

*  Good-bye.  I  have  had  such  a  happy  afternoon,  thank  you  so 
much,'  whispered  Anna,  with  a  timid  kiss  that  Alison  warmly  re- 
turned.    '  One  day  you  will  have  me  again,  will  you  not  ?  ' 

'  Come  whenever  you  like,  dear.  I  am  sure  we  shall  be  good 
friends,'  returned  Alison,  forgetting  the  necessity  of  lowering  her  voice- 
Miss  Hardwick  laughed  affectedly  as  she  heard  the  speech. 

'  You  are  a  lucky  girl  to  have  got  a  friend  so  quickly.  Is  she  not, 
Mr.  Roger  ?  Oh  !  1  forgot ;  you  are  her  friend,  too,'  with  a  little 
spice  of  venom  in  her  tone. 

'  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  be  considered  Miss  Anna's  friend  ;  and 
I  am  sure  Alison  will  say  the  same,'  rejoined  Roger,  in  his  down- 
right manner.  '  Good-bye,  Miss  Anna.  You  see  I  have  not  for- 
gotten you.    Here  is  the  groundsel  for  your  birds  that  I  promised  you. 

'They  are  my  birds,'  observed  Eva,  her  colour  rising  with  annoy- 
ance at  this  little  mark  of  kindly  consideration  to  her  sister,  when  all 
her  airs  and  graces  had  never  succeeded  in  attracting  even  an  admir- 
ing look  from  Roger,  and  Eva  was  one  of  those  girls  who  expected 
admiration  and  attention  from  every  one. 

'  Yes  ;  but  Miss  Anna  feeds  your  birds,'  he  returned  quietly,  'and 
I  dare  say  they  will  be  very  grateful  to  her,  and  love  her  all  the 
better  for  this  groundsel.'  And  he  handed  it  to  Anna,  who  was 
standing  beside  her  sister,  looking  shy  and  distressed. 


'SHE   IS   A   NICE,   SIMPLE   LITTLE   THING.'  99 

She  knew  quite  well  by  Eva's  voice  that  she  would  be  well  scolded 
all  the  way  home  for  her  forwardness  and  want  of  manners  ;  and 
most  likely  a  formal  complaint  made  to  her  mother  about  her  always 
trying  to  attract  notice  ;  for  baffled  vanity  is  capable  of  even  this 
meanness,  and  when  people  choose  to  consider  themselves  aggrieved 
they  seldom  take  the  trouble  to  measure  their  words,  or  pause  to 
consider  whether  they  are  true  or  not ;  and  it  was  not  the  first  time 
poor  Anna  had  all  sorts  of  strange  charges  laid  to  her  share  when 
Eva  happened  to  be  in  a  bad  humour. 

'  Poor  little  thing  !  I  hope  you  will  be  her  friend,  Ailie,'  observed 
Roger,  when  he  had  closed  the  gate  after  them,  and  found  Alison 
alone  under  the  lime  trees.  '  I  am  afraid  she  has  a  hard  life  of  it, 
with  that  mother  and  sister.' 

'  I  am  afraid  so,  too,'  returned  Alison  gravely.  *  I  wish  they 
would  let  me  have  her  here  a  little,  for  I  am  sure  we  should  get  on 
together.     She  is  a  nice,  simple  little  thing.' 

'  Yes,'  he  returned  thoughtfully ;  *  but  she  is  more  than  that. 
She  is  clever,  too  ;  though  you  could  not  find  it  out  in  one  afternoon. 
It  is  a  pity  she  hesitates  so.  It  is  only  a  nervous  habit,  I  expect,  but 
it  spoils  her.' 

*  She  loses  it  entirely  when  she  gets  interested  and  forgets  herself. 
Yes  ;  I  Uke  her.  I  wonder  what  Aunt  Di  would  say  about  her  ? 
But,  Roger,  how  have  you  been  getting  on  to-day?  No  fresh 
worries,  1  hope  ?  ' 

He  shook  his  head. 

'  No,  thank  goodness  !  and  as  for  past  troubles,  by  your  leave,  we 
will  not  talk  about  them  just  now.  Do  you  know,  little  woman,' 
putting  his  arm  round  her,  '  I  feel  in  a  more  cheerful  mood  to  day. 
That  cup  of  coffee  was  very  potent,  Ailie,'  with  a  flash  of  his  eye  ; 
'  it  lasted  nearly  all  day.' 

*  You  absurd  boy  !     What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'  Oh  !  I  am  perfectly  serious.  It  seemed  to  brace  me  up,  and 
gave  me  courage.  I  said  to  myself  once  when  I  had  a  tough  job  in 
hand,  "  Well,  Ailie  and  I  are  both  hard  at  work  to-day,  and  by-and- 
by  we  will  have  a  rare  good  talk."  And  so  we  will  !  After  dinner 
you  and  I  and  Rudel  are  going  for  a  walk.  It  will  be  like  old  times, 
won't  it,  Ailie  ? '  looking  so  atiectionately  in  her  face  that  Alison 
could  only  smile  and  assent,  and  try  to  enter  into  Roger's  pleasure, 
though  she  had  meant  to  devote  her  evening  to  writing  a  long  letter 
to  Aunt  Diana. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Roger's  appendix. 

'iss  Carrington  received  a  letter  from  Alison  soon  after  this, 
the  conclusion  of  which  made  her  smile;  but  that  was  not 
Alison's  fault.  Roger  had  taken  possession  of  the  half-finished 
sheet  of  note  paper,  and  had  filled  it  after  his  own  fashion, 
adding  a  lengthy  message  from  Rudel.  Alison  protested  in 
vain,  the  letter  must  go  with  Roger's  appendix  or  else  a  day's  post 
would  be  lost. 

'  Dear  Aunt  Diana,'  wrote  Alison,  in  her  pretty  girlish  hand,  '  I 
had  hoped  to  have  commenced  a  long  letter  to  you  last  Monday, 
and  now  it  is  Saturday,  and  yet  not  a  word  written.  Last  week  I 
behaved  better,  did  I  not  ?  But  you  cannot  scold  me,  lest  I  quote 
your  own  words  against  you,  "  Duty  before  pleasure."  Is  not  that 
what  you  always  said,  and  is  not  the  greatest  pleasure  in  the  world, 
except  talking  to  you,  to  write  to  you  and  tell  you  everything  ?  But 
then  you  would  not  have  me  neglect  all  my  little  duties  even  to 
enjoy  this,  would  you,  dear  Aunt  Di?' 

('As  though  Ailie  ever  neglected  her  little  duties  !  '  observed  Miss 
Carrington,  with  a  tender  smile,  which  it  was  a  pity  Alison  could  not 
see.) 

'  I  have  been  at  home  three  weeks  now,  and  you  will  want  to  know 
if  I  feel  satisfied  with  the  progress  I  have  made.  You  asked  as  much 
in  your  last  letter — and  what  a  dear  letter  that  was  ;  but  indeed,  Aunt 
Di,  I  feel  that  it  is  a  question  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  answer. 
"  The  world  goes  up  and  the  world  goes  down,"  especially  at  The 
Holms.  The  old  grievances  remain  ;  Missie  still  asserts  her  own 
sweet  will,  in  absolute  disregard  of  all  other  wills.  This  causes 
floods  of  tears  on  Poppie's  part,  when  Miss  Leigh  and  I  are 
not  by  to  take  her  part ;  and  a  day  never  passes  without  a  quarrel 
between  Missie  and  Rudel.  I  am  afraid  they  are  both  rather  fond  of 
wrangling,  for  they  begin  on  the  smallest  pretext.     Missie  is  often 


ROGER'S   APPENDIX.  lOI 

cross  with  me,  but  I  take  very  little  notice  of  that ;  it  is  her  behaviour 
to  Roger  that  troubles  me  most.  Sometimes  I  feel  so  angry  at  her 
innuendoes  and  sarcastic  speeches,  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  refrain 
from  speaking,  but  Roger  says  our  silence  punishes  her  most ;  she 
wants  to  rouse  him  into  a  passion,  but  he  has  wisely  resolved  not  to 
indulge  her.  "  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  he  always  says,  when  he  sees 
me  unhappy  about  it ;  "  hard  words  break  no  bones,"  but  all  the 
same  I  know  how  often  she  pains  him  ;  and.  Aunt  Di — you  know  I 
tell  you  everything,  as  you  said  1  ought — I  am  afraid  she  makes 
papa  harder  on  Roger  than  he  would  be  if  he  were  left  to  himself, 
and  this  makes  me  more  angry  and  miserable.  I  think  there  is  no 
one  in  the  world  so  good  as  Roger,  except  one  or  two  people  who 
shall  be  nameless,  and  I  long — oh,  how  I  long  !— to  make  him  as 
happy  as  he  deserves  to  be  for  his  own  sake.  1  am  glad  I  have  come 
home.  Yes,  indeed,  dear  Aunt  Di,  you  were  right,  as  you  always 
were,  and  my  duty  is  here  at  present.' 

('Only  three  weeks,  and  she  has  already  learnt  her  lesson,'  said 
Miss  Carrington,  with  a  sigh.  '  Poor  little  Ailie  !  yes,  I  was  right 
to  give  you  up.') 

'  But  I  am  turning  the  dark  side  to  you  first.  Now  for  a  bit  of 
brightness, 

'  I  am  really  getting  on  much  better  with  my  housekeeping  this 
week;  the  first  week  I  made  dreadful  blunders,  in  spile  of  Miss 
Leigh's  help.  Papa  was  rather  annoyed  once  or  twice,  only  I  begged 
him  to  have  patience,  as  I  was  so  new  to  my  duties,  and  then  he 
said  no  more.  It  vexes  me  when  Missie  calls  his  attention  to  any 
little  oversight  on  my  part,  as  I  do  not  think  he  would  notice  it  of 
his  own  accord ;  but  I  try  to  follow  Roger's  example  and  bear  it  as 
patiently  as  I  can,  and  I  have  made  less  mistakes  this  week. 

'  I  think  breakfast  time  is  the  pleasantest  hour  of  the  day.  Missie 
never  comes  down  until  the  meal  is  nearly  over,  and  so  1  get  papa 
and  the  boys  to  myself,  and  we  are  often  very  merry.  Rudel  is 
always  down  in  time,  for  I  call  him  myself,  and  as  I  help  him  to  find 
his  school-books  he  is  never  in  disgrace  with  his  master.  Poppie, 
too,  has  learned  to  say  her  grace  and  to  bid  us  all  good-morning 
very  prettily.  She  seems  less  afraid  of  papa,  and  talks  to  him 
as  nicely  as  possible.  My  greatest  ditificulty  is  to  fit  in  all  my  duties. 
Do  you  remember  giving  me  quite  a  long  lecture  once  on  making  a 
better  use  of  my  time  ?  You  called  me  a  sad  spendthrift,  and  de- 
clared all  the  quarters  of  an  hour  that  I  wasted  would  mount  up 


I02  AUNT  DIANA. 

dreadfully  at  the  end  of  the  week ;  but  I  find  I  must  husband  even 
my  minutes  now  if  I  am  to  do  all  I  wish. 

'  So  much  is  taken  up  by  housekeeping  and  necessary  needlework, 
in  spite  of  all  Miss  Leigh's  valuable  help,  that  very  little  remains  for 
my  own  pursuits.  I  am  giving  Poppie  drawing  lessons,  which  pleases 
her  very  much,  and  I  help  Rudel  with  his  Latin,  How  glad  I  am 
that  Mr.  Moore  got  me  on  so  well  with  it ;  it  has  given  me  such  an 
influence  over  Rudel ;  he  respects  me  twice  as  much,  I  believe  ;  and 
he  was  very  backward  with  his  Latin,  and  that  made  papa  angry.  I 
have  another  pupil,  too,  and  that  is  Roger.  One  evening  papa  re- 
mained in  his  study,  and  we  all  gathered  round  the  piano  and  sang 
rounds  and  glees.  I  discovered  then  that  Roger  really  had  a 
magnificent  voice,  only  it  was  perfectly  uncultivated,  so  I  am  doing 
my  best  to  train  it.  I  wanted  Missie  to  teach  him,  because  she 
really  sings  most  beautifully,  but  she  will  not  take  the  trouble,  so  we 
shut  ourselves  in  the  schoolroom  and  practise  scales  nearly  every 
evening. 

*  I  wish  our  evenings  could  be  more  sociable,  but  I  hardly  know 
how  to  make  them  so.  Papa  always  brings  his  books  into  the 
drawing-room  and  that  hinders  all  conversation.  Missie  has  quite 
left  off  singing  to  us ;  she  always  shares  papa's  lamp  and  little  table, 
and  reads  all  the  evening,  too.  She  and  Miss  Hardwick  are  reading 
French  novels,  to  improve  themselves  in  the  language.  Miss  Leigh 
has  spoken  to  papa  once  or  twice  about  it,  but  she  cannot  induce 
him  to  put  a  stop  to  it.  One  evening  he  did  question  Missie,  but 
she  was  reading  Corinne  then,  and  of  course  he  could  not  dis- 
approve ;  but  only  the  other  day  Miss  Leigh  was  dreadfully  shocked 

to  find  her  over  one  of  's  novels  ;  they  had  quite  a  battle  over 

it,  but  Miss  Leigh  cried,  and  declared  she  would  go  to  papa  that 
instant  if  Missie  did  not  give  it  up,  so  she  promised  to  take  it  back 
to  Miss  Hardwick  ;  but  do  you  know,  Aunt  Diana,  I  am  afraid  they 
read  it  together  at  Maplewood. 

'  When  papa  and  Missie  read,  Miss  Leigh  and  I  have  to  work  in 
silence,  unless  we  read,  too.  Roger  brings  in  his  book  sometimes,  but 
he  finds  it  very  dull,  so  we  go  off  to  the  schoolroom  to  practise,  or 
we  fetch  Rudel  for  a  walk,  and  once  or  twice  I  have  taken  my  work 
out  to  the  timber-yard ;  it  is  so  cool  and  quiet  there,  and  Roger 
talks  to  me.  On  Sunday  evenings  papa  always  remains  in  his  study, 
so  after  church  we  sing  hymns,  and  Poppie  sits  up  to  hear  us. 
Missie  was  very  angry  about  it  at  first,  but  I   quietly  told  her  that 


ROGER'S  APPENDIX.  lOJ 

Poppie  was  in  Miss  Leigh's  charge  and  in  mine,  and  that  I  would 
allow  no  interference  ;  and  that  answered,  for  she  has  said  nothing 
about  it  since. 

'  With  Missie  I  have  simply  no  influence ;  she  refuses  to  walk  or 
practise  with  me,  and  holds  herself  aloft  from  our  pursuits.  She  is 
always  with  Miss  Hardwick  ;  they  go  out  together,  and  Missie  is  over 
at  Maplewood  three  or  four  afternoons  in  the  week.  When  Miss 
Hardwick  comes  over  here,  they  show  me  pretty  plainly  that  my 
society  is  not  wanted.  I  have  an  idea  that  Missie  is  mostly  to  blame 
for  this.  Miss  Hardwick  has  always  come  alone  since  that  first 
afternoon,  and  when  I  beg  her  to  bring  her  sister  Anna  she  always 
makes  some  civil  excuse  or  other ;  but  I  believe  the  poor  little  thing 
is  not  allowed  to  come,  and  I  have  not  yet  been  asked  to  Maplewood. 
There  is  talk  of  a  garden-party  there  soon,  and  of  course  Roger  and 
I  will  be  invited  then,  and  I  shall  see  Anna. 

'  Oh  !  what  a  long  letter  I  am  writing,  but  you  see  I  have  so  much 
to  say.  One  thing  more.  You  will  be  grieved  to  hear  that  when  I 
took  your  advice  and  spoke  to  papa  about  coming  with  us  to  church 
last  Sunday,  he  was  very,  very  angry  with  me.  He  said  it  was  no 
business  of  a  girl  of  my  age  to  interfere  with  him,  and  that  I  was  to 
attend  to  my  own  duties  and  leave  him  to  his.  I  should  have  been 
quite  unhappy  about  it,  only  that,  in  spite  of  his  anger,  I  could  see 
such  a  sad  look  in  his  eyes,  and  that  made  me  all  the  more  sorry  for 

him.    Roger  says But  here  he  comes,  looking  very  mischievous, 

as  though  he  meant  to  hinder  me.     Oh,  Aunt  Di ' 

'  Ailie  has  written  at  least  six  sheets,  and  I  mean  to  have  this  last 
page.  Nieces  are  all  very  well,  but  I  am  sure  you  would  like  to 
hear  sometimes  from  your  nephews.  Here  is  Rudel  dying  to  send  a 
message  to  Aunt  Diana.  Well,  sir,  what  is  it  ?  Never  mind,  he  is  a 
good  boy,  as  boys  go,  but  he  is  not  gifted  with  a  huge  amount  of 
brains,  and  he  has  not  hammered  out  a  very  elegant  message ;  but  I 
am  sure  you  will  excuse  it  and  give  him  credit  for  warm  feeling. 
*'  Tell  Aunt  Diana  that  she  is  no  end  of  a  brick."  Do  please  forgive 
me  for  a  literal  transcript  of  his  words.  "  Yes,  she  is  a  brick,  and  no 
mistake,  for  sparing  Ailie  to  us,  and  Ailie  is  a  regular  trump  ;  things 
are  not  half  so  horrid,  and  a  fellow  has  some  pleasure  in  his  life  when 
he  is  not  being  chivied  all  over  the  place  and  riled  until  he  is  pretty 
nearly  mad."  Hold  there,  my  good  lad ;  I  am  sure  Aunt  Diana  will 
spare  you  the  rest.  Seriously,  my  dear  aunt,  we  are  all,  from  Poppie 
upwards,  as  grateful  to  you  as  possible  for  sending  back  Ailie  to  us ; 


I04  AUNT  DIANA. 

good  girls  are  not  as  plentiful  as  blackberries ' — ('  For  shame,  Master 
Roger  ! '  from  Miss  Carrington) — *  and  we  mean  to  make  much  of 
Ailie  now  we  have  got  her. 

'  The  Holms  is  not  the  most  peaceful  spot  in  existence.  "  Birds 
in  their  little  nests  agree,"  so  Dr.  Watts  says  ;  but,  my  dear  aunt, 
every  schoolboy  will  tell  you  that  is  false  ;  though  we  will  let  it  pass, 
and  suppose  the  baby  beaks  do  not  peck  each  other.  Still,  at  The 
Holms  there  is  a  vast  amount  of  pecking. 

*  There  are  "  wills  and  won'ts,  I  shall  and  you  shan't,"  in  this  happy 
abode,  and  Ailie  does  not  like  it  at  all.  She  has  dreadfully  old- 
fashioned  notions  about  family  life,  and  thinks  brothers  and  sisters 
ought  never  to  quarrel ;  she  is  all  for  kissing  and  making  up,  but,  bless 
you,  one  can't  do  that  sort  of  thing  alone.  For  instance,  if  I  wished 
to  embrace  Missie  during  one  of  her  tantrums,  I  should  find  my 
arms  full  of  thin  air,  or  the  real,  substantial  Missie  might  scratch  at 
close  quarters.     There  is  nothing  your  fair-haired  vixen  will  not  do. 

'  Never  mind  :  poor  little  Ailie  does  her  best  for  us  all,  and  some 
of  us  are  properly  grateful.  VVe  have  good  times  now  and  then,  and 
get  up  a  laugh  and  astonish  ourselves.  One  thing,  1  have  enjoyed 
my  breakfast  for  the  last  three  weeks.  No  more  lukewarm  coffee, 
poured  out  with  an  acidulated  smile  ;  we  have  the  real  thing  in  smiles 
now.  There,  I  think  I  have  inflicted  enough  on  you,  so  I  will 
subscribe  myself 

*  Your  affectionate  and  grateful  nephew, 

'  Roger.' 

When  Miss  Carrington  read  this  letter  to  Mr.  Moore,  on  the  old 
bench  by  the  river,  a  pleased  look  came  over  the  old  man's  face. 

'  I  like  that  lad,'  he  said,  striking  his  ivory-headed  stick  into  the 
ground.  *  I  remember  his  voice  pleased  me  when  he  was  here  some 
years  ago ;  a  good  honest  voice  it  was.  Mark  my  words.  Miss 
Diana,  our  little  sunbeam  is  fulfilling  her  mission.' 

'  I  think  Roger  is  all  the  happier  for  having  his  sister,'  returned . 
Miss  Carrington,  with  a  sigh.  \ 

'  Oh,'  he  said,  turning  his  sightless  face  towards  her  quickly,  '  you 
are  missing  the  child,  and  so  am  I.  Sunny  is  beyond  our  reach  just 
now  ;  one  cannot  help  wishing  her  back  sometimes.  For  my  part  I 
had  no  idea  how  sorely  I  should  miss  my  little  pupil.' 

*  I  always  knew  what  her  loss  would  be  to  me,'  returned  Miss 
Carrington,  with  some  emotion  ;  '  that  is  the  worst  of  isolating  one's 
affections.     I  have  so  few  who  are  absolutely  necessary  to  me  ;  only 


ROGER'S   APPENDIX.  10$ 

you  and  Greville  and  Ailie — three  out  of  this  worldful  of  millions ; 
it  seems  wrong  somehow.' 

*  The  fewer  to  love — the  fewer  to  leave,'  replied  the  old  man 
somewhat  dreamily  ;  *  but,'  rousing  himself,  '  I  believe  you  are  right, 
Miss  Diana.  We  ought  to  open  our  hearts  wider,  and  compel  the 
many  to  come  in.  There  must  be  something  niggardly  in  our 
natures  if  we  find  it  so  difficult  to  care  for  people.  Love  begets 
love,  so  they  say.  We  lose  both  principal  and  interest  if  we  lay  up 
our  talents  in  a  napkin.' 

'  Do  you  know,'  observed  Miss  Carrington,  a  little  abruptly,  '  that 
Greville  is  very  angry  with  me  for  sending  Ailie  away?' 

*  Oh,  he  has  written  to  you,  has  he  ?  '  with  a  half  smile,  for  he  had 
already  received  a  stormy  letter  from  his  grandson  on  the  same 
subject. 

'  Yes ;  he  is  as  indignant  as  possible  about  the  sacrifice,  as  he 
terms  it.  He  calls  me  shabby  for  not  letting  him  into  the  secret ; 
he  declares  he  shall  go  round  by  Chesterton  on  his  way  home  and 
have  it  out  with  Alison  ;  but  I  have  put  a  stop  to  that.' 

'What  !  you  deprived  him  and  Sunny  of  that  poor  little  pleasure? 
What  a  hard-hearted  woman  you  are,  Miss  Diana  !  and  yet  you  were 
young  yourself  once.' 

'  My  dear  friend,  it  would  not  do  at  all,'  returned  Miss  Carrington, 
in  her  most  resolute  tone.  '  You  spoil  that  boy  so  dreadfully  that 
you  give  in  to  all  his  whims.  You  want  me  to  keep  you  all  in 
order.' 

'  But  where  would  be  the  harm  ? '  persisted  Mr.  Moore,  smiling. 
*Just  a  call  and  a  chat;  why,  it  would  do  Sunny  good.' 

'  No,  no  ;  it  would  only  unsettle  her.  Greville  shall  go  down  to 
The  Holms  some  day,  but  not  just  yet.  Ailie  will  get  on  better  if 
we  leave  her  entirely  to  herself  the  first  few  months.  Why,  unless 
things  go  very  wrong,  I  do  not  intend  to  go  down  myself  until  next 
spring.     But  Greville,  oh,  no  ;  I  told  him  on  no  account  to  do  it.' 

'  And  you  expect  him  to  obey  you,  I  suppose  ? ' 

*  Oh,  yes,  he  will  obey  me  now.  Later  on,  perhaps — but  we  shall 
see.  I  am  sure  it  would  be  only  cruel  kindness  for  Greville  to  un- 
settle her.  She  frets  enough  after  us,  I  am  sure  of  that,  and  seeing 
him  will  only  bring  us  more  vividly  before  her.  Besides,  there  are 
other  reasons  ;  but,  my  good  old  friend,  you  do  not  often  distrust 
my  wisdom.' 

*  Nor  do  I  now,'  he  returned  slowly.     *I  was  only  putting  myself 


I06  AUNT  DIANA. 

in  my  boy's  place,  and  thinking  how  he  must  long  for  a  glimpse  of 
Sunny.  Have  it  your  own  way,  Miss  Diana;  Greville  is  almost  as 
much  your  boy  as  he  is  mine,  and  I  know  you  would  not  cross  him 
if  you  could  help  it' 

'  No,  indeed,'  she  replied,  very  gently ; '  I  think  you,  and  Greville, 
too,  may  trust  me.'     And  then  the  conversation  dropped. 

It  was  an  odd  thing,  but  when  Greville  read  Miss  Carrington's 
letter,  his  face  first  clouded  with  disappointment,  but  after  a  second 
perusal  it  suddenly  cleared, 

'  All  right,  my  dear  old  Cara,'  he  said  to  himself.  *  I  understand 
more  than  you  think,  perhaps  more  than  you  intended ;  well,  you 
shall  be  obeyed  this  time,  and  without  much  grumbling ;  but  next 
year,  if  I  pass  this  examination,  you  and  grandfather  shall  see.'  And 
then  he  took  up  his  straw  hat,  thrust  the  letter  into  his  pocket-book, 
still  smiling,  and  went  down  to  the  lake,  where  his  boat  was  waiting, 
whistling  as  merrily  as  a  blackbird  all  the  time. 

'  Ailie,'  asked  Roger  suddenly,  as  they  sat  together  in  the  timber- 
yard  one  evening,  *  what  has  become  of  that  fellow,  Greville  Moore  ? 
I  never  hear  anything  about  him  now.' 

*  He  has  joined  a  reading  party  at  Keswick  this  vacation,'  returned 
Alison,  throwing  a  stick  into  the  canal  for  Otter  to  find  ;  '  and  after 
that  I  believe  he  and  Mr.  Moore  are  going  to  Cornwall.  Aunt 
Diana  said  something  about  it  in  her  last  letter.' 

'And  Aunt  Di  is  going  to  the  Swiss  Tyrol,  is  she  not?' 

*  Yes,  I  believe  so,'  returned  Alison,  turning  her  face  away.  Roger 
thought  she  was  only  interested  in  Otter's  movements,  and  he  rose 
lazily  to  find  another  stick. 

But  Alison's  dark  eyes  were  suddenly  full  of  tears.  Roger  knew 
nothing  of  those  long  winter  talks  in  the  twilight,  when  she  and 
Aunt  Diana  were  having  blind  man's  holiday  until  the  lamp  was 
brought  in.  How  they  had  planned  out  that  delightful  trip  that 
Aunt  Diana  was  now  to  take  alone ;  the  weeks  that  were  to  be  spent 
among  the  Swiss  mountains,  when  she  and  Alison  were  to  fill  their 
sketch-books,  and  Aunt  Diana  was  to  find  a  scene  for  her  new  pic- 
ture. Alison  had  never  been  abroad,  and  the  previous  year  Mr. 
Moore  had  been  ill,  and  Miss  Carrington  had  refused  to  leave  him, 
and  they  had  only  gone  to  Hastings  later  on  with  him  and  Greville. 
It  was  a  happy  time,  she  remembered,  and  full  of  pleasant  recollec- 
tions ;  but  Greville  would  have  joined  them  in  Switzerland. 

Miss  Carrington  had  said  very  little  about  it  in  her  letter;  it  was 


•all  right,  my  dear  old  caka,'  he  said  to  himself, 
107 


ROGER'S  APPENDIX.  IO9 

a  painful  subject  to  both.  She  was  going  quite  alone  now ;  some 
friends  of  hers  were  in  the  Engadine,  and  would  join  her,  if  she 
wished  it,  but  she  would  miss  her  dear  little  companion  all  the 
same. 

'  Come  along,  Ailie,'  exclaimed  Roger,  drawing  her  arm  through 
his.  *  It  feels  cold  and  damp.  It  is  hardly  prudent  to  sit  so  long. 
Come  into  the  schoolroom  and  give  me  a  lesson.' 

Alison  rose  silently,  and  in  the  dim  light  brushed  something  from 
her  cheek,  but  Roger  noticed  nothing  amiss  when  she  asked  him  in 
her  usual  voice  what  song  he  would  try.  '  It  would  only  vex  him 
if  he  knew  how  disappointed  I  am,'  she  thought,  '  so  I  will  not  tell 
him,  and  perhaps  some  day,  if  I  am  very  good.  Aunt  Diana  may 
still  take  me  to  Switzerland.'  And  with  this  thought  she  resolutely 
set  herself  to  play  Roger's  accompaniment. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A   CONVENIENT  THUNDERSTORM. 

OGER,  does  it  not  seem  strange  that  Miss  Hardwick  never 
brings  her  sister  to  The  Holms  ? ' 

'  Well,  no,  Ailie.  I  am  too  profound  a  student  of  human 
nature  to  think  anything  strange.  You  women  know  how  to 
tyrannise  over  one  another.  Revenge  is  sweet,  even  to  the 
feminine  mind.  Poor  Miss  Anna  is  expiating  the  offence  of  having 
excited  our  commiseration.  The  fiat  has  gone  forth — her  days  at 
The  Holms  are  numbered.' 

*  Oh  dear,  I  hope  not,'  returned  Alison,  in  an  anxious  voice ;  '  I 
took  rather  a  fancy  to  the  poor  little  thing,  and  I  hoped  to  have 
been  of  some  use  to  her — she  seems  so  utterly  devoid  of  friends.' 

*  I  perfectly  agree  with  you  there.  I  never  see  Miss  Anna  without 
recalling  the  old  story  of  Cinderella.  I  only  wish  we  could  impro- 
vise a  pumpkin  coach  and  carry  her  off.  I  should  like  to  set  her  to 
play,  and  do  nothing  else  for  three  months  at  least' 

Alison  laughed  at  Roger's  energetic  tone  as  he  struck  the  hedge- 
row with  his  stick.  They  were  walking  down  a  country  road.  The 
evening  was  sultry,  and  Roger  had  invited  his  sister  to  accompany 
him  in  one  of  their  pleasant  strolls.  There  was  a  moment's  silence 
after  Roger's  speech,  and  then  he  began  again — but  this  time  there 
was  a  glimmer  of  mischief  in  his  eyes. 

*  Ailie,  what  should  you  say  if  I  should  promise  to  bring  you  and 
Miss  Anna  together  in  less  than  half  an  hour?  ' 

'  I  should  say  you  were  a  magician,'  returned  Alison  carelessly,  for 
she  did  not  believe  him  in  earnest 

*  Nevertheless,  the  thing  shall  be  done,'  was  his  oracular  reply;  and 
then  he  said  quickly,  '  Look  at  the  clouds,  Ailie ;  we  shall  have  a 
thunderstorm  directly.'  Alison  gave  a  startled  glance  at  the  sky  ; 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  gathering  blackness  overhead. 

'  What  shall  we  do  ? '  she  exclaimed,  in  a  disconcerted  voice.     *  I 


'we  shall  have  a  thunderstorm  directly.' 


A  CONVENIENT  THUNDERSTORM.  II3 

have  my  new  hat  on,  and  this  nice  clean  cambric,  and  we  have  no 
umbrella,  and  there  is  not  a  house  in  sight.' 

*  All  right,'  was  Roger's  cheerful  response  ;  'things  are  just  as  they 
should  be.  Wallc  as  fast  as  you  can ;  in  less  than  ten  minutes  we 
shall  be  at  the  gate  of  Maplewood.  Could  anything  be  more  cleverly 
arranged?  Of  course,  we  must  take  refuge  from  the  impending 
storm.  You  are  afraid  of  lightning,  are  you  not,  Ailie  ?  They  will 
be  compelled  to  house  us  for  an  hour  at  least.' 

'  Oh,  Roger,  what  a  good  idea ! '  exclaimed  Alison,  still  laughing. 
'  Please  let  us  make  haste,  though,  or  we  shall  never  reach  Maple- 
wood  in  time.'  And  Alison  quickened  her  walk  into  a  run.  But  the 
heavy  drops  pelted  on  her  before  she  took  refuge  in  the  portico. 

Before  Roger  could  lift  his  hand  to  the  knocker  the  door  was  flung 
open,  and  Anna  stood  on  the  threshold. 

*  I  saw  you  both  running  down  the  road,'  she  exclaimed,  eagerly. 
'  I  knew  you  would  take  refuge  here  from  the  rain ;  there  is  going 
to  be  such  a  heavy  storm,  and  I  was  just  beginning  to  feel  frightened 
at  the  thought  of  being  alone  in  it,  but  I  don't  mind  a  bit  now,' 

*  Do  you  mean  that  Mrs.  Hardwick  and  your  sister  are  out? '  asked 
Roger,  as  he  shook  Alison's  light  mantle,  which  was  already  wet. 

'  Yes,  they  are  dining  at  the  Allans'.  There  is  to  be  a  dance  after- 
wards, so  they  will  be  very  late.  Do  you  mind  my  taking  you  into 
the  morning  room  ?  I  have  some  work  that  I  must  finish,  or  Eva 
will  be  disappointed  ;  but  I  can  talk  to  you  all  the  same.  Oh,  it  is 
so  nice  to  see  you  again,'  looking  at  Alison  affectionately. 

'  Is  it  not  nice  to  see  me,  too  ? '  asked  Roger,  in  a  comical  tone. 
•  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  leave  me  out  in  the  cold,  Miss  Anna.' 

Anna  laughed  and  blushed  at  this  ;  then  she  said,  very  prettily,  in 
her  childish  way, '  Oh,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  too  ;  but  I  never  thought 
of  telling  you  so.  Will  you  ring,  Mr.  Roger  ?  and  then  Morton  will 
bring  us  some  tea.  Please  take  that  easy  chair  by  the  window,  Miss 
Merle— it  is  Eva's  favourite  seat,  because  there  is  such  a  pretty  view 
of  the  garden.' 

'  No,  indeed,  I  am  going  to  help  you,'  returned  Alison,  laying  her 
hat  aside,  and  pulling  off  her  long  gloves.  'Oh,  you  poor  child, 
what  a  task  ! '  as  she  inspected  Anna's  work.  She  was  trimming  an 
Indian  muslin  gown  with  coffee-coloured  lace. 

'  Yes,  is  it  not  pretty  ? '  returned  Anna,  innocently.  '  Eva  means 
to  wear  it  at  our  garden-party  on  Thursday.  You  and  Mr.  Roger 
are  both  coming,  are  you  not  ? ' 

H 


114  AUNT  DIANA. 

*  We  are  not  invited,'  returned  Alison,  a  little  gravely,  as  she  took 
a  thimble  from  her  pocket,  and  helped  herself  unasked  to  a  needle 
and  thread.  '  I  am  going  on  with  that  flounce,'  she  continued  quietly, 
*so  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  talk  to  me  and  Roger.' 

*  Oh,  how  kind  you  are  ! '  returned  Anna,  gratefully.  '  The  thunder 
always  makes  my  head  ache  a  little,  and  I  have  been  working  all  the 
afternoon,  and  it  was  so  hot ;  indeed,'  interrupting  herself,  '  Eva  was 
writing  out  your  notes  of  invitation  to-day.  I  think  she  gave  them 
to  Mabel.  I  am  sorry,'  flushing  a  little  as  she  spoke,  '  that  you  should 
have  them  so  late,  but  Eva  is  always  so  busy.' 

'  So  is  some  one  else  always  busy,'  observed  Roger,  with  a  pitying 
glance  at  the  girl's  tired  face.  Both  he  and  Alison  thought  she  looked 
thinner  and  paler  than  when  they  saw  her  last ;  her  blue  eyes  looked 
large  and  heavy,  and  the  veins  of  the  forehead  were  marked  too 
clearly;  her  fair  hair  was  strained  from  her  face  and  coiled  somewhat 
untidily,  and  her  grey  linen  dress  looked  tumbled  and  far  from  fresh. 
Poor  little  Anna  !  she  had  been  too  busy  all  day  to  think  of  her  ap>- 
pearance;  and  then,  no  visitors  ever  asked  for  her.  Roger,  who  was 
a  keen  observer  in  his  quiet  way,  could  not  help  comparing  the  two 
girls  as  they  sat  together — Alison  looking  so  dainty  and  neat  in  her 
pretty  summer  gown  with  her  lace  ruffles,  and  Anna  in  her  unbecom- 
ing grey  dress,  with  a  tumbled  collar,  and  her  little  thin  hands  and 
bare  wrists  unrelieved  by  any  whiteness ;  and  again  Roger  thought 
of  Cinderella  sitting  among  the  ashes  ;  then  he  jumped  up  and 
wheeled  the  easy  chair  towards  the  table. 

*  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  house  us  for  a  good  hour  or  more,'  he 
observed,  'for  the  weather  means  mischief,  and  in  this  climate  it  never 
rains  but  it  pours,  so  while  Ailie  acts  the  part  of  a  good  Brownie, 
and  does  your  work,  you  may  as  well  make  yourself  comfortable.  I 
suppose  you  will  not  mind  my  going  into  the  library  for  a  book,  for 
I  am  not  much  of  a  hand  at  talk?  You  may  summon  me  when  tea 
is  ready.'  And  Roger  marched  off",  muttering  to  himself,  'Two  is 
company,  three  is  none  ;  she  shall  not  be  bothered  with  making 
company  talk  for  me,  poor  little  girl  ! ' 

*  How  good  he  is  ! '  whispered  Anna,  almost  before  the  door  had 
closed  behind  him  ;  '  he  thinks  I  want  to  talk  to  you  alone,  and  so  I 
do.  Oh,  how  quickly  you  work  !  your  needle  seems  to  fly.  My  head 
was  aching  so  with  stooping  over  the  muslin  that  I  could  hardly  see  ; 
but  when  I  told  Eva  so,  she  said  I  was  always  full  of  fancies,  and  that 
I  was  so  dreadfully  idle.    But  I  don't  think  I  really  am  idle,  do  you  ?' 


A  CONVENIENT  THUNDERSTORM.  II5 

*  No,  indeed,'  returned  Alison,  with  something  of  Aunt  Diana's 
abruiJtness  ;  'I  am  sure  you  have  been  working  too  hard,  you  look 
so  thin  and  unsubstantial.  Tell  me,  Anna,  why  have  you  never  come 
to  see  me  again,  as  you  promised? ' 

A  painful  flush  overspread  the  young  girl's  face. 

*Eva  does  not  want  me  to  come,'  she  half  whispered  ;  'at  least,  I 
think  so;  she  always  raises  difficulties  when  I  ask  to  accompany  her; 

and — and '  her  eyes  filling  with  tears — *  she  was  so  angry  that 

afternoon  when  you  and  Mr.  Roger  were  so  kind  to  me — when  he 
brought  me  the  groundsel,  you  know ;  she  said  I  was  so  forward  that 
people  could  not  help  noticing  me,  and  that  she  was  sure  Mr.  Roger 
thought  so.' 

*  What  a  shame  ! '  was  on  Alison's  lips,  but  she  prudently  refrained 
from  uttering  the  words  aloud  ;  she  only  said  very  kindly, — 

*  Never  mind,  Anna  dear — may  I  call  you  Anna  ?  and  please  re- 
member 1  am  only  a  girl  myself,  and  my  name  is  Alison,  and  not 
Miss  Merle.  Never  mind,  if  what  your  sister  says  is  not  true*;  people 
often  say  things  when  they  are  put  out  which  they  do  not  really  mean. 
No  one  could  think  you  forward ;  I  am  sure  Roger  would  laugh  at 
such  an  idea  if  I  were  to  tell  him.' 

'You  must  not  do  that,'  returned  Anna,  quietly  ;  'he  would  be  so 
angry  with  Eva;  they  are  not  good  friends,  you  know.  Oh,  how 
glad  I  am  to  tell  you  this ;  it  takes  quite  a  load  off  my  mind.  I  was 
afraid  you  would  think  me  so  ungrateful  after  pressing  me  so  kindly 
to  come ;  you  might  have  thought  I  did  not  care — 1  cried  about  it 
so  often.' 

'You  must  never  do  that  again,' replied  Alison,  quite  pained  at 
this;  'ifyoudonot  come  to  The  Holms  I  shall  quite  understand 
where  the  fault  lies  ;  we  will  not  make  things  worse  by  fretting  over 
them.  Aunt  Diana  always  says  fretting  never  helps  any  one,  and 
only  undermines  our  strength.  We  must  try  and  be  patient  for  a 
little — things  may  be  better  by-and-by.' 

'That  is  what  I  often  say  to  myself,'  returned  Anna,  more  brightly. 
*  Do  you  think  it  wrong  to  make  up  stories  about  oneself,  Miss 
Merle?' 

'  Miss  Merle  has  no  thought  on  the  subject,  or  on  any  subject/ 
returned  Alison,  gravely. 

'  Do  you  think  it  wrong  then,  Alison  ?  '  repeated  Anna,  with  a  shy 
laugh. 

'My  dear' — very  briskly — 'you  are  asking  a  very  strange  question 


Il6  AUNT   DIANA. 

of  a  dreamer  of  dreams  like  myself.  I  am  afraid  I  must  refer  you 
for  an  answer  to  my  usual  authority — Aunt  Diana.' 

'Oh,  dear!'  returned  Anna,  with  a  pleased  smile,  'how  nice  to 
think  that  you  are  not  wiser  than  myself  in  that !  I  mean,  that  you 
make  up  stories,  too.' 

'  Well,  you  know,' — in  rather  an  amused  tone — '  eighteen  is  not 
quite  the  age  of  Methusaleh,  and  I  possess  a  few  of  the  sins  of  girl- 
hood ;  but  I  must  give  you  the  same  dose  of  wisdom  that  has  been 
administered  to  my  unfortunate  self.  Aunt  Diana  used  to  say  to  me, 
"What  is  the  use  of  dreaming  in  the  daytime?  It  is  drowsy  work, 
and  only  makes  real  life  look  harder  by  comparison."  And  she  often 
quoted  Kingsley'swords,  "Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them."  "Why, 
it  is  like  building  a  house  with  eggshells,  to  go  dreaming  through 
life,"  she  would  say;  "hard  work  is  better  than  such  flimsy  thoughts. 
You  will  never  be  a  heroine,  Ailie,  my  dear,  so  it  is  no  use  fancying 
yourself  one.  When  I  was  a  child,  I  once  fancied  myself  Joan  of 
Arc,  and  tied  myself  so  tightly  to  the  nursery  table  that  I  could  not 
undo  the  knots.  I  suppose  my  mother  wanted  to  teach  me  a  lesson, 
for  she  would  not  let  any  one  come  to  my  help  for  an  hour.  '  No, 
my  dear,'  I  remember  her  saying,  '  you  courted  martyrdom,  as  poor 
Joan  did,  so  you  must  not  expect  such  an  easy  deliverance.  Undo 
your  own  knots,  and  never  mind  about  hurting  your  fingers.  Joan 
had  to  expiate  those  dreams  of  hers,  and  you  must  do  the  same, 
Diana.'     It  actually  cured  me  of  my  fancies  for  a  long  time." ' 

Anna  laughed  merrily  at  this. 

'  I  should  like  to  know  your  aunt,  Alison  ;  she  seems  so  clever  and 
so  good.  I  do  not  wonder  you  are  so  different  from  other  girls. 
No  one  ever  told  me  such  things,' — a  little  sadly.  '  Somehow  it 
makes  the  time  pass,  and  the  world  seems  less  tedious  if  I  imagine 
all  sorts  of  stories  about  myself — castle-building,  is  not  that  what  you 
call  it?' 

'Yes,  it  is  very  nice,'  returned  Alison,  with  a  sigh;  'but  nice 
things  are  not  always  wholesome — one  may  be  surfeited  with  sweets. 
If  1  were  you,  Anna,  I  would  have  an  interesting  book  beside  me, 
and  read  a  page  or  two  every  now  and  then,  when  you  feel  restless  ; 
it  will  refresh  you,  and  give  you  food  for  thought ;  a  book  is  sucli  a 
companion,  and  takes  off  all  dulness.  Yes,  I  am  sure  that  would  be 
better  for  you  than  dreaming,  unless  you  compose  poetry ;  that 
would  do  as  well.' 

'  Oh,  I  could  not  do  that ;  I  am  not  a  bit  clever,'  returned  Anna, 


A  CONVENIENT   THUNDERSTORM.  11/ 

in  quite  a  frightened  voice ;  '  but  I  like  your  idea  about  the  book. 
I  am  reading  the  Water  Babies,  and  I  was  longing  to  get  to  it  all 
the  afternoon  ;  it  is  just  the  sort  of  book  for  a  hot  day.  Yes,  I  think 
you  are  right  about  castle-building  being  a  foolish  sort  of  habit ;  I 
will  try  to  break  myself  of  it,  and  think  other  people's  thoughts  in- 
stead.    But  here  comes  tea,  and  we  must  summon  Mr.  Roger.' 

Roger  was  not  sorry  to  be  called.  The  library  was  rather  a 
gloomy  apartment  this  wet  evening,  as  it  looked  on  the  darkest  part 
of  the  shrubbery,  the  evergreens  coming  far  too  close  to  the  win- 
dows. But,  as  no  one  sat  in  the  room,  this  was  not  considered  a 
grievance.  He  thought  the  morning  room  looked  snug  and  cozy 
when  he  went  back  to  it.  The  muslin  dress  still  reposed  on  the 
centre  table,  but  a  smaller  one  was  placed  in  the  bay  window,  round 
which  the  three  young  people  were  gathered. 

Anna  quite  forgot  her  headache  and  fear  of  the  thunder  as  she  per 
formed  her  simple  duties  of  hostess.  She  looked  so  pleased  when 
Roger  told  her  that  he  had  never  tasted  better  tea,  that  he  laughingly 
accused  her  of  never  having  entertained  company  before.  To  his 
surprise,  she  answered  him,  quite  seriously — *  Oh,  no ;  I  never  had  a 
tea-party  before.  How  nice  it  is  !  Eva  has  her  friends  sometimes, 
but  I  do  not  seem  to  know  any  girls.' 

*  Or  young  men,'  put  in  Roger,  mischievously.  He  seemed  bent 
on  teasing  her  to-night. 

'  Well,  there  is  Cousin  Anthony,  you  know,'  she  replied  in  her 
usual  naive  fashion;  'he  is  a  young  man,  of  course;  but  I  don't 
think  he  would  like  to  come  to  my  tea-parties.  Eva  always  says  that 
I  am  such  a  child  that  people  don't  care  to  talk  to  me.  I  am  afraid 
I  am  not  very  clever.' 

'  I  am  glad  of  that,'  returned  Roger  promptly.  *  I  detest  people 
who  think  themselves  clever.  You  are  quite  clever  enough  for 
Alison  and  me.  By  the  bye.  Miss  Anna,  how  do  you  get  on  with 
your  Latin  ? ' 

*  Oh,  pretty  well,'  she  answered,  with  one  of  her  varying  blushes, 
which  made  her  almost  pretty.  '  I  have  so  little  time,  and  you  have 
not  given  me  a  lesson  for  so  long,  Mr.  Roger.' 

'  Why,  you  never  come  to  The  Holms  now,'  was  his  reply  to  this. 
*  I  believe  Ailie  has  frightened  you  away.  You  must  not  mind  her. 
Miss  Anna ;  she  is  a  sort  of  epitome  of  Aunt  Diana's  sayings  now. 
As  Macaulay  has  it,  "Nothing  is  more  unattractive  than  an  epitome  "  ; 
so,  of  course,  Ailie  is  a  sort  of  Gorgon  to  you.' 


Il8  AUNT  DIANA. 

'  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  I  am  so  fond  of  your  sister,'  returned  Anna,  in 
her  gentle,  impulsive  way ;  but  she  made  no  excuse  for  herself  in 
return  for  Roger's  implied  reproach. 

'  The  rain  is  over  now,'  observed  Alison,  in  a  regretful  voice,  '  and 
it  is  growing  so  dark,  Roger,  we  ought  not  to  stay  any  longer.' 

*  Never  mind,  I  shall  see  you  on  Thursday,'  replied  Anna.  *  I  am 
looking  forward  to  the  day  so  much.  I  have  a  new  dress,  too,'  she 
continued,  as  Roger  left  the  room  to  find  Alison's  mantle  ;  '  it  is  not 
so  pretty  as  Eva's  dress — such  a  beautiful  muslin  ;  mine  is  only 
cream-coloured  nun's  cloth.' 

*  I  am  sure  you  will  look  very  nice,  and  I  shall  bring  you  some 
flowers,'  returned  Alison,  kindly,  with  a  vivid  recollection  how  well 
Anna  had  looked  with  the  knot  of  roses  fastened  in  her  grey  dress. 

'Now,  good-bye,  dear.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  put  in 
another  stitch  to-night ;  perhaps  your  sister  will  be  able  to  help  you 
to-morrow.' 

Anna  looked  surprised  at  this.  *  Eva  never  works,'  she  said, 
simply,  as  though  it  were  an  uncontroverted  fact;  'she  hates  the  very 
sight  of  a  needle.  When  she  was  quite  little,  she  cried  so  about  it, 
mamma  would  not  let  nurse  teach  her  ;  and  Cousin  Anthony  says  it 
•would  be  a  waste  of  time  for  such  an  accomplished  creature  to  do 
what  any  uneducated  needlewoman  could  do  for  her.' 

'Yet  she  wastes  your  time.'  Alison  could  not  help  saying  this;  but 
Anna  only  shook  her  head. 

'  It  is  not  waste  of  time  for  me.  I  am  not  clever,  like  Eva  ;  and  I 
am  fond  of  work.  One  may  have  too  much  of  it  sometimes  ;  but  I 
like  to  feel  of  use  to  somebody.' 

'Well,  dear,  you  will  have  your  reward  some  day,  I  hope,'  returned 
Alison,  gently  ;  and  then  they  joined  Roger  in  the  hall. 

'  Well,  Ailie,'  he  observed,  as  they  walked  briskly  down  the  wet 
road,  '  have  you  had  a  nice  time  with  your  new  friend  ? ' 

*  Yes,  indeed,  Roger.  I  am  so  thankful  for  the  rain.  I  am  getting 
quite  fond  of  Anna.  There  is  so  much  goodness  under  that  shy, 
childish  manner.' 

*  I  knew  you  would  appreciate  her,'  he  returned,  heartily.  '  Poor 
little  girl !  One  is  glad  to  do  anything  to  help  her.  There  is  not 
much  a  fellow  like  me  can  do,  except  say  a  kind  word  when  people 
snub  her,  or  leave  her  to  sit  alone  in  corners.  That  is  almost  all  I 
have  done.' 

'  But  you  teach  her  Latin,  Roger.' 


A  CONVENIENT  THUNDERSTORM.  II9 

'Nonsense!'  was  the  hasty  reply.  'A  pretty  sort  of  teaching! 
The  poor  httle  thing  once  confided  to  me  her  difficulties,  and  so 
whenever  an  opportunity  came  I  gave  her  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  con- 
struing. She  used  to  come  rather  often  to  The  Hohns  once  upon  a 
time.  Well,  I  shall  leave  her  in  your  hands  now,  Ailie.  A  girl 
friend  of  her  own  age  will  be  far  better  for  her.' 

'  I  am  sure  you  have  been  good  to  her,  Roger,  or  she  would  not 
be  so  grateful  to  you.'  But  as  Roger  only  said  '  Nonsense  ! '  rather 
impatiently,  Alison,  with  her  usual  tact,  changed  the  subject. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    FETE   AT   MAPLEWOOD. 

'HAT  a  lovely  afternoon  !  Eva  is  always  so  fortunate  in  wea- 
ther,' observed  Mabel,  as  she  and  Alison  stood  at  the  gate 
of  The  Holms,  waiting  for  Roger.  '  You  look  very  nice, 
Alison,'  she  continued  condescendingly.  '  I  suppose  Aunt 
Diana  employed  a  good  dressmaker  ;  your  dress  is  not  new, 
but  it  looks  quite  fresh.'  And  Missie,  who  was  in  high  good- 
humour,  regarded  her  own  gown  with  infinite  content. 

Missie  was  certainly  looking  very  pretty,  in  spite  of  her  many  frip- 
peries. Her  prink  cheeks  were  pinker  than  ever,  and  her  bright  eyes 
shone  with  contentment  and  pleasure.  Nevertheless,  many  that 
afternoon  turned  from  her  to  look  at  the  graceful  dark-eyed  girl 
dressed  so  simply  yet  so  becomingly  in  soft  Madras  muslin,  with  the 
shady  hat  with  its  long  ostrich  feather,  a  gift  from  Aunt  Diana. 
Alison's  perfect  simplicity  always  seemed  such  a  contrast  to  Missie's 
finery. 

'  Yes,  you  look  very  nice,'  continued  Missie,  complacently. 
*  Eva  is  right,  and  you  have  a  style  of  your  own.  I  only  hope  poor 
Anna  will  not  make  a  guy  of  herself,  but  she  always  does ;  she  is  such 
a  plain,  dowdy  little  thing.' 

'  I  wonder  her  sister  does  not  try  to  improve  her  taste,'  remarked 
Alison,  rather  severely.  '  Anna  is  one  of  those  people  who  have  no 
natural  talent  in  dress.  Aunt  Diana  always  says  there  is  an  educa- 
tion even  in  this ;  the  eye  and  the  taste  must  be  properly  cultivated. 
I  think  Miss  Hardwick  should  take  her  sister  in  hand' 

'  I  told  her  so  once,'  returned  Missie,  '  but  she  said  Anna  had 
no  complexion  and  no  good  looks,  and  that  dress  would  be  of  little 
consequence  in  her  case ;  she  always  seems  to  me  rather  ashamed  of 
Anna,  and  I  don't  wonder  at  it.' 

Alison  was  silent.  She  was  resolving  in  her  own  mind  to  appeal 
to  Missie's  benevolence  on  behalf  of  Anna.     In  spite  of  her  temper 


YOU    LOOK    VERY    NICE,    ALISON.' 


THE  FETE  AT  MAPLEWOOD.  I23 

and  vanity,  Missie  had  many  good  points ;  she  was  kind-hearted  and 
capable  of  a  great  deal  of  affection.  She  would  try  to  interest  her 
in  the  poor  child. 

'  Roger  does  not  seem  coming ;  he  was  detained  so  long  at  the 
mill.  Let  us  walk  on  slowly,  and  he  will  soon  overtake  us.'  And 
as  Missie  consented  to  this,  Alison  took  this  opportunity  to  relate 
their  visit  to  Maplewood,  and  she  dwelt  long  and  feelingly  on  poor 
Anna's  solitary  task  and  her  jaded  looks. 

To  do  her  justice,  Missie  appeared  extremely  shocked.  'That 
was  too  bad  of  Eva,'  she  said,  gravely,  '  to  go  out  and  amuse  herself, 
and  leave  all  that  work  for  Anna.' 

'  I  am  afraid  it  is  too  often  the  case,'  returned  Alison,  following 
up  her  advantage  rather  eagerly.  '  Anna  has  no  time  to  amuse  her- 
self, or  to  carry  on  her  own  studies ;  she  is  always  slaving  for  her 
mother  and  sister.  They  are  rich,  and  could  easily  afford  to  keep  a 
maid.     It  is  not  fair  that  one  sister  should  be  a  drudge  to  another.' 

'  No,  indeed  ;  I  must  speak  to  Eva,'  replied  Missie,  in  a  rather 
displeased  voice.  '  I  have  often  told  her  that  she  puts  too  much  on 
Anna.' 

'And,  Mabel  dear,' continued  Alison,  coaxingly,  'you  have  such 
influence  with  Miss  Hardwick  that  I  wish  you  would  ask  her  to  bring 
Anna  with  her  sometimes  when  she  comes  to  The  Holms.  I  have 
no  friends  of  my  own  in  Chesterton,  and  I  have  taken  rather  a  fancy 
to  Anna ;  I  should  like  her  to  come  and  see  me  sometimes.' 

Alison  could  not  have  been  more  diplomatic.  Missie  was  sure  to 
respond  to  such  an  appeal.  In  the  first  place,  she  liked  Alison  to 
ask  her  a  favour  ;  it  confirmed  her  own  sense  of  importance  ;  then 
she  had  always  boasted  of  her  influence  with  her  friend — here  was 
an  opportunity  of  testing  it ;  thirdly,  for  even  Missie  was  capable  of 
generosity  for  its  own  sake,  she  was  quite  willing  to  do  a  good  turn 
for  Anna,  who  was  a  harmless  little  creature,  and  was  never  in  her 
way. 

*  Of  course  I  will  talk  to  Eva,'  she  said,  rather  consequentially. 
*  I  will  tell  her  that  Anna  must  come  to  amuse  you.  I  rather  won- 
der at  your  taste,  Alison  ;  I  cannot  imagine  any  one  more  uninterest- 
ing than  Anna  ;  but  we  do  not  always  think  alike.'  And  then,  as 
Roger  came  up  with  them,  she  broke  off  her  sentence  to  reprimand 
him  sharply  for  his  delay. 

Maplewood  owned  a  garden  of  very  tolerable  dimensions,  but  it 
was  already  crowded  when  the  Merles  made  their  appearance.     The 


124  AUNT  DIANA. 

lawn  was  covered  by  gaily  dressed  people;  tennis  had  not  yet  begun, 
but  the  band  was  playing.  As  soon  as  Alison  had  greeted  her 
hostess  she  looked  round  anxiously  for  Anna.  She  had  no  desire  to 
linger  beside  Mrs.  Hardwick  ;  the  handsome,  talkative  widow  had 
already  excited  her  aversion.  As  she  turned  away  in  search  of  her 
friend,  Miss  Hardwick  came  up  to  them  in  company  with  a  tall,  dark 
man. 

'  Mabel  dear,'  she  said,  almost  ignoring  Alison,  *  I  must  introduce 
Tony  to  you — my  cousin,  Captain  Harper,  Tony,  this  is  my 
especial  friend,  and  I  shall  expect  you  to  pay  her  a  great  deal  of 
attention,  on  peril  of  my  displeasure.' 

'  I  am  too  happy  to  perform  such  a  pleasing  duty,  I  am  sure,' 
lisped  Anthony ;  but  his  bold  black  eyes  passed  over  Missie's  sim- 
pering pretty  little  face  to  Alison's, 

*  Is  this  another  special  friend  of  yours,  Eva  ? '  he  observed,  twisting 
his  moustache  and  looking  full  at  her  as  he  spoke.  Miss  Hardwick 
made  the  introduction  somewhat  reluctantly  ;  Alison  bowed  a  little 
haughtily ;  she  was  not  prepossessed  with  Captain  Harper's  appear- 
ance, and  she  determined  to  have  as  little  as  possible  to  do  with 
him  ;  he  seemed  about  to  speak  to  her,  but  she  turned  suddenly  to 
Miss  Hardwick. 

'  I  do  not  see  your  sister,'  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

*  Oh,  I  dare  say  not,'  she  answered,  carelessly.  '  I  never  knew 
Anna  ever  ready  for  anything ;  she  is  not  half  dressed,  I  suppose. 
Now,  Tony,'  turning  her  shoulders  on  Alison,  *  you  must  take  Mabel 
for  your  partner  in  the  first  set,  and  Edgar  Dawson  and  Miss  Free- 
land  will  play  against  you.' 

'  We  had  better  take  our  places,  then,'  drawled  Captain  Harper ; 
and,  left  to  herself,  Alison  turned  to  Roger  and  asked  him  to  walk 
with  her  to  the  house. 

'I  am  going  in  search  of  Anna,' she  whispered  as  she  left  him, 
and  she  asked  one  of  the  servants  who  was  just  entering  the  tea- 
room to  take  her  to  Anna's  bedroom.  The  maid  looked  surprised, 
but  she  put  down  her  tray  at  once,  and  preceded  Alison  upstairs, 

'That  is  Miss  Anna's  room,'  she  said,  pointing  to  the  door;  'she 
is  dressing,  I  believe,  A  hamper  of  flowers  came,  and  she  has  only 
just  finished  arranging  them,' 

'  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to  help  her,'  returned  Alison,  knocking 
at  the  door. 

A  weary  voice  said,  '  Come  in.' 


THE   FETE  AT   MAPLEWOOD.  12$ 

'  My  dear  child,'  exclaimed  Alison,  in  a  surprised  voice,  as  she 
entered,  '  why,  you  have  not  begun  to  dress,'  for  Anna  was  standing 
at  the  window  in  her  grey  linen  gown,  evidently  watching  the  gay 
scene,  but  the  tears  were  rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

'  Oh,  I  cannot  dress  now,'  she  sobbed,  as  Alison  kissed  her,  '  it  is 
so  late,  and  I  am  so  tired  ;  Eva  said  the  flowers  must  be  done,  and  I 
have  only  just  finished  them.  I  saw  Mr.  Roger  and  you  and  Mabel 
come  in,  and  I  did  so  long  to  come  out,  but  now  I  am  just  tired  out, 
and  I  can't  stop  crying.' 

'  Oh,  you  will  cheer  up  directly,  and  I  am  going  to  stop  and  help 
you,'  returned  Alison,  brightly.  '  Bathe  your  eyes  with  some  eau  de 
Cologne  and  water ;  I  will  be  back  in  a  moment.'  And  running 
downstairs,  Alison  made  her  way  into  the  tea-room,  and  after  a  few 
words  with  the  good-natured  maid  she  had  already  accosted,  she  was 
soon  provided  with  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  delicious-looking  cake. 

'  Now  you  are  to  leave  off  crying  and  take  these  good  things  I 
have  brought  you,' coaxed  Alison,  'and  then  I  will  help  you  to  dress. 
You  are  tired  and  worried ;  but  the  coffee  will  refresh  you.'  But 
Anna's  answer  was  a  fresh  burst  of  tears  as  she  threw  her  arms  round 
her  neck. 

'  Oh,  how  kind  you  are  to  me !  I  do  love  you  so;  no  one  ever 
took  such  trouble  for  me  before.' 

'  Then  you  must  thank  me  by  enjoying  the  coffee,'  laughed  Alison  ; 
but  a  sympathising  drop  hung  on  her  own  lashes.  Nevertheless,  she 
talked  on  cheerfully  until  Anna  had  dried  her  eyes  and  drunk  her 
coffee,  and  then  she  coaxed  her  to  let  her  brush  her  hair  and  arrange 
it.  Anna  sat  quite  patient  and  docile  under  Alison's  hands ;  she  did 
not  even  look  at  herself  till  the  pretty  cream-coloured  dress  was 
fastened,  and  the  flowers  arranged,  and  then  Alison  led  her  to  the 
glass. 

'  Why,  I  look  quite  different ;  what  have  you  done  to  me  ? '  ob- 
served Anna,  in  a  bewildered  tone.     '  I  am  not  like  myself  at  all.' 

This  was  the  opportunity  for  Alison  to  deliver  her  little  lecture. 

*  You  have  never  taken  enough  pains  with  your  appearance,'  she 
said,  seriously.  '  You  have  such  pretty  hair,  but  you  dress  it  in  such 
an  unbecoming  way ;  very  few  faces  can  bear  to  have  the  hair  so 
tightly  strained  from  the  forehead.  Look  how  naturally  and  prettily 
it  waves,  now  I  have  given  it  a  little  liberty.  Your  forehead  is  too 
high  and  prominent  to  be  uncovered  ;  but  these  little  curly  rings  are 
far  better  than  your  sister's  fringe,  and  you  will  soon  learn  to  plait 


126  AUNT  DIANA. 

your  hair  more  smootlily.  Grey  does  not  suit  you  at  all.  You  must 
never  choose  a  dress  of  that  colour,  and  when  you  wear  cream  or 
white  always  have  a  knot  of  ribbon  or  a  flower  to  give  you  a  little 
tone  of  colour.' 

Anna  opened  her  blue  eyes  rather  widely  at  this  harangue. 

'You  are  talking  quite  seriously,  as  though  you  thought  I  had 
neglected  some  duty,'  she  said,  in  a  perplexed  voice.  '  Of  course  it 
would  be  very  nice  to  look  like  this  always  ;  but  the  less  one  thinks 
about  dress  the  better.' 

'  I  do  not  agree  with  you,  Anna,'  returned  Alison,  with  much 
decision  ;  '  every  one  ought  to  make  the  best  of  themselves.  There 
is  a  great  deal  in  the  Bible  about  dress.  See  how  minutely  every 
detail  of  Aaron's  robes  was  settled.' 

'Oh,  but  he  was  the  high  priest,  and  of  course  his  dress  was 
symbolical.' 

'  Well,  dress  with  us  ought  to  be  symbolical  too.  Oh,  I  am  not 
repeating  my  own  words.  Every  girl's  dress,  Aunt  Di  says,  ought  to 
be  symbolical  of  beauty,  neatness,  and  purity.  Why,  Anna,  the 
Bible  is  full  of  descriptions  of  women's  dress.  Think  how  beautifully 
Esther  dressed  herself  when  she  wanted  to  ask  a  favour  of  the  king  ; 
think  of  the  white  robes  of  the  saints  !  It  seems  to  me  that  only 
undue  vanity  is  rebuked,  and  that  dress  is  not  of  itself  sinful.' 

'  I  never  thought  of  it  in  this  way  before,'  replied  Anna,  scrutinis- 
ing herself  thoughtfully.  '  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  taken  more 
pains  with  my  hair,  and  chosen  my  dresses  more  carefully.  I 
thought,'  hesitating  over  her  words,  '  that  no  one  cared  how  I 
looked,  and  so  it  did  not  matter ;  but  perhaps  I  have  been  only 
indolent.' 

'  Never  mind ;  you  will  take  more  pains  with  yourself  now,  to 
please  me,'  returned  Alison,  perfectly  satistied  with  the  result  of  her 
lecture.  '  Now,  as  I  am  longing  for  a  game  of  tennis,  suppose  we  go 
down  ?  '     And  Anna  cheerfully  assented. 

They  were  met  in  the  hall  by  Roger  and  Captain  Harper ;  the 
gentlemen  were  evidently  in  search  of  them. 

'I  thought  you  had  lost  yourself,  Ailie,'  observed  Roger;  and 
as  he  turned  to  her  companion  a  low  whistle  of  astonishment  broke 
from  his  lips,  and  was  at  once  promptly  suppressed. 

'  I  did  not  know  you.  Miss  Anna,'  was  all  he  ventured  to  say  ;  but 
both  Alison  and  Anna  coloured  with  pleasure  under  the  approving 
look  he  bestowed  on  them. 


THE   FETE   AT   MAPLEWOOD.  12/ 

*  Miss  Merle,  I  hope,  now  I  have  taken  all  this  trouble  to  find  you, 
that  you  will  not  refuse  to  be  my  partner  in  this  set,'  asked  Captain 
Harper,  so  eagerly  that  he  had  ahnost  forgotten  his  usual  drawl. 

Ah"son  assented  rather  coldly  ;  but  her  reluctance  vanished  when 
she  found  Roger  and  Anna  meant  to  oppose  them.  She  almost 
forgot  her  dislike  to  her  partner  during  the  long,  well-contested 
game,  which  soon  drew  a  crowd  of  spectators  round  them;  her  skill 
and  animation  delighted  Captain  Harper.  Missie  was  watching 
them  rather  curiously. 

'  I  did  not  know  Alison  was  such  a  good  player,'  she  said  at  last, 
when  Eva  joined  her.  '  Captain  Harper  did  not  exert  himself  quite 
so  much  when  he  played  with  me  ! '  with  a  displeased  toss  of  her 
head. 

'  He  knows  we  are  watching  him,  darling,  and  that  puts  him  on 
his  mettle,'  returned  her  friend,  soothingly  ;  and  she  proceeded  to 
whisper  into  Missie's  ear  some  of  those  artful  flatteries  which  some 
girls  love  to  impart  to  each  other.  Miss  Hardwick  was  certainly 
a  most  undesirable  friend  for  a  girl  of  Missie's  disposition.  Her 
foolish  little  head  was  soon  turned  by  Eva's  smooth,  plausible 
speeches,  and  the  smiles  came  to  her  face  again. 

'Really,  Eva,'  she  said  presently,  adjusting  her  eyeglasses  coquet- 
tishly — for  just  then  it  was  rather  fashionable  to  be  short-sighted,  and 
Missie,  who  had  eyes  like  a  hawk  for  strength  and  clearness,  must 
needs  dangle  her  [)ince-nez,  with  other  misguided  young  ladies  — 
'really,  my  dear,  I  never  saw  Anna  look  so  well.' 

Miss  Hardwick  turned  her  long  neck  superciliously,  and  regarded 
her  sister  with  surprise. 

'  That  must  be  Alison's  doing,'  she  said  with  evident  displeasure. 
'Anna  never  did  her  own  hair,  I  am  sure  of  that.'  But  her  hand- 
some face  clouded  still  more  when  Missie  proceeded  to  take  her  to 
task. 

'  You  ought  to  look  after  her  a  little  more,  Eva,'  said  Missie,  who 
was  certainly  not  deficient  in  courage.  '  You  have  so  much  taste 
yourself,  you  ought  to  help  her  to  choose  her  dresses.  I  should  be 
ashamed  if  my  sister  looked  as  dowdy  as  Anna  generally  does.' 

Miss  Hardwick  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back  an  angry  retort ;  but  she 
was  really  fond  of  Missie,  as  the  little  monkey  knew,  for  she  went  on 
quite  coolly  with  her  list  of  grievances. 

Dear  Eva  was  wrong  to  give  Anna  so  much  work.  Both  she  and 
Alison  thought  Anna  looked  very  ill.      'And,  darling,'  continued 


128  AUNT   DIANA. 

Missie,  in  a  smooth,  cajoling  voice,  'Anna  must  come  to  The  Hohns 
sometimes.  Alison  has  taken  a  fancy  to  her,  and  it  will  keep  her 
out  of  our  way  if  she  has  Anna  sometimes,  and  I  like  to  have  you 

to  myself,  and — and '    But  the  rest  of  Missie's  speech  was  only 

whispered  into  Eva's  ear,  only  it  was  evidently  more  potent  than  the 
rest,  for  her  moody  countenance  relaxed,  and  she  nodded. 

*  Very  well ;  she  can  come  if  she  likes,'  she  said,  somewhat  un- 
graciously ;  but  Missie,  who  had  gained  her  end,  cared  nothing  for 
Eva's  sulkiness. 

The  rest  of  the  afternoon  passed  like  a  happy  dream  to  Anna. 
She  played  another  game  with  Roger,  who  seemed  bent  on  having 
her  for  a  partner;  and  afterwards,  when  Alison  had  succeeded  in 
shaking  off  Captain  Harper  by  infusing  into  her  manner  a  fine 
degree  of  girlish  hauteur  and  coolness  not  easily  to  be  mistaken,  the 
three  sat  together,  passing  kindly  remarks  on  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany. 

But  the  crowning  happiness  of  the  afternoon  to  Anna  was  when 
Missie  addressed  her  in  the  condescending  manner  of  one  who 
confers  a  benefit. 

'  You  have  not  been  to  see  us  lately,'  she  said,  quite  graciously. 
'  I  have  told  Eva  that  she  must  bring  you  sometimes  to  talk  to 
Alison.'     And  after  this  Anna's  cup  of  joy  seemed  overflowing. 

Alison  enjoyed  her  party  moderately.  The  sunshine,  and  the 
music,  and  the  gay  scene  quickened  her  young  pulses  ;  but  once 
when  she  was  left  to  herself  another  scene  rose  before  her  eyes. 

A  group  of  light-hearted  girls  gathered  round  a  boat,  going  to  pick 
forget-me-nots  on  the  Long  Island.  The  feathery  splash  of  the  oars 
seemed  in  her  ears  ;  Greville's  gay  laugh  seemed  to  penetrate  through 
the  strains  of  the  music ;  there  were  golden  lights  on  the  water,  swans 
ruffling  their  plumage  angrily  ;  purple  shadows  ;  the  flickering  of  tall 
reeds  in  the  sedgy  banks. 

'  Ailie,  the  band  is  going  to  play  "  God  save  the  Queen."  What 
were  you  dreaming  about,  little  woman  ?  Come  with  me  and  say 
good-bye  to  Mrs.  Hardwick  ;  she  is  holding  her  court  under  the 
acacia.'     And  Roger  took  her  by  the  arm  and  led  her  away. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

ROGER   RESOLVES    TO   WATCH. 

*  TTThank  you,    Mabel  dear,  for   what  you  have   said  to  Anna,' 
iw\  whispered  Ahson  gratefully,  as  they  left  the  grounds  of  Maple- 
^1^  wood. 
%§       Missie  looked  gratified. 

'  Oh,  of  course,  I  gave  Eva  a  piece  of  my  mind.  She  is  always 
so  reasonable  and  sweet-tempered  that  I  never  have  any  difficulty. 
Anna  may  come  to  The  Holms  as  often  as  she  likes.'  Then,  with 
a  perceptible  effort  to  seem  at  her  ease,  she  continued  hurriedly  : 
'  Eva  is  going  to  bring  her  cousin  to  afternoon  tea  to-morrow.  I 
hope  it  will  be  fine,  and  then  we  can  set  the  table  under  the  Hme 
trees  ;  our  drawing-room  is  such  an  ugly  room.' 

'  Do  you  mean  Captain  Harper  is  coming  ? '  returned  Alison,  with 
a  strong  accent  of  disgust  in  her  voice.  *  Oh,  Mabel !  how  could 
you  ask  him  ?  I  am  sure  papa  will  not  be  pleased.  I  do  not  like 
him  at  all ;  his  manners  are  so  artificial  and  disagreeable.' 

Missie  looked  sulky  in  a  moment. 

'  It  is  a  pity  you  did  not  stop  at  Riverston,'  she  returned,  in  an 
injured  voice,  'for  none  of  our  Chesterton  folk,  with  the  exception 
of  that  stupid  little  Anna,  seem  good  enough  for  you.  I  think 
Captain  Harper  charming,  and  I  am  sure  papa  will  be  pleased  with 
him,  unless  you  set  him  against  the  poor  fellow.'  And  here  Missie 
looked  decidedly  cross.  Her  temper  was  rising  under  this  unex- 
pected opposition. 

'  You  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  say  nothing  to  papa,'  replied  Alison, 
with  so  much  dignity  that  Missie  was  silenced  ;  but  she  sulked  so 
perceptibly  all  the  evening  that  her  father  noticed  it,  and  asked  more 
than  once  what  was  the  matter  with  Missie  ;  but  tale-tellmg  was 
beneath  Alison,  and  she  said  nothing. 

But  she  was  terribly  annoyed,  all  the  same,  and  took  Roger  into 


130  AUNT   DIANA. 

her  confidence,  exacting  from  him  a  promise  that  he  would  be  pre- 
sent at  all  risks. 

'  Perhaps  I  am  wrong,'  she  remarked  candidly ;  '  I  am  always  so 
ready  with  my  likes  and  dislikes.  But  I  cannot  bear  Captain 
Harper,  and  it  is  odious  to  me  to  pour  out  his  tea  for  him.' 

Alison's  anxiety  was  soon  set  at  rest.  The  party  from  Maplewood, 
including  Anna,  had  not  long  been  gathered  under  the  lime  trees 
before  Mr.  Merle  made  his  appearance,  greatly  to  her  delight  and 
Missie's  discomfiture.  Alison  never  found  out  if  Roger  had  be- 
trayed her  trust  and  given  his  father  warning  of  the  expected  guest. 
But  there  was  no  mistaking  the  coolness  of  his  manner  to  Captain 
Harper.  That  unlucky  individual  was  clearly  not  at  his  ease,  and 
certainly  no  inducement  was  held  out  to  him  to  repeat  his  visit. 

As  soon  as  the  unwelcome  visitor  had  departed  Mr.  Merle  ex- 
pressed himself  as  much  displeased  to  find  Captain  Harper  there ; 
indeed,  his  severity  quite  overwhelmed  Missie,  and  she  retired  in 
floods  of  tears. 

'  Papa  is  never  angry  with  me,'  she  sobbed ;  '  this  must  be  your 
fault,  Alison.  You  have  come  home  to  stir  up  strife  and  turn  papa 
against  me.' 

'Don't  be  absurd,  Mabel,'  returned  Alison,  a  little  crossly;  'you 
have  brought  it  all  on  yourself.  Papa  seems  angry  with  me  too, 
and  yet  you  know  I  am  not  at  all  in  fault.  If  you  do  wrong  you 
must  bear  to  be  scolded.  Papa  says  he  is  quite  shocked  at  our 
forwardness.  You  see,  he  blames  me,  too  He  says  no  one  but 
himself  or  Roger  ought  to  invite  gentlemen  to  the  house,  and  Miss 
Leigh  says  the  same.  He  told  me  after  you  left  the  room  that  lie 
would  take  care  that  Captain  Harper  should  not  repeat  his  visit, 
as  he  was  not  the  sort  of  man  whose  acquaintance  he  could  approve 
for  his  daughters.' 

Missie  dissolved  into  fresh  tears  on  hearing  tliis.  '  I  am  sure 
it  is  not  papa's  real  opinion,'  she  persisted  in  saying.  Roger  had 
put  him  up  to  it  to  spite  her  and  Eva.  What  would  Eva  say  if  she 
were  forbidden  to  bring  her  cousin  to  The  Holms  ?  She  wished 
Alison  would  go  back  to  Aunt  Diana,  and  not  stoj)  here  to  make  her 
so  wretched.  She  did  not  see  the  use  of  having  a  sister  who  hated 
and  thwarted  her. 

'  Oh,  you  silly  child  ! '  exclaimed  Alison,  kissing  the  wet,  ill- 
tempered  little  face  that  still  looked  so  pretty.  '  Wliat  a  storm  in 
a  teacup  !     I  don't  hate  you  a  bit.     I  am  very  fond  of  you,  though 


ROGER  RESOLVES  TO  WATCH.  I3I 

you  will  quarrel  with  me  about  every  trifle;  but  it  takes  two  to 
quarrel  properly,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  take  up  the  cudgels  to  please 
you  ! '  And  here  she  gave  her  a  playful  shake,  that  so  astonished 
Missie  that  she  speedily  grew  more  amiable,  for  her  tempers  had 
never  been  so  set  aside  before. 

Alison  consoled  herself  for  her  sister's  variable  moods  by  trying 
to  make  Anna  happy.  That  little  person  came  frequently  to  The 
Holms  now,  and  she  began  to  consider  how  these  visits  might  be 
turned  to  account.  '  For  it  will  never  do  to  waste  so  many  after- 
noons in  talking  about  just  what  comes  into  one's  head,'  she  de- 
cided. 

So  she  proposed  to  give  Anna  painting  lessons  twice  a  week. 
She  could  teach  Poppie  at  the  same  time,  and  go  on  with  her  own 
work.  And  as  Anna  gleefully  acceded  to  this,  the  schoolroom  was 
transferred  into  a  studio,  much  to  Miss  Leigh's  delight.  She  thought 
it  was  the  prettiest  sight  possible  to  see  Alison  in  her  picturesque 
hoUand  blouse,  standing  behind  Poppie's  chair  or  putting  in  a  back- 
ground for  Anna,  pupils  and  teacher  all  laughing  and  talking  to- 
gether. 

Anna  was  growing  a  different  creature  under  Alison's  healthy 
influence.  She  was  one  of  those  sensitive  human  plants  that  need 
sunshine  before  they  can  grow.  The  depressing  atmosphere  in 
which  she  lived  had  made  her  meagre  and  colourless.  Her  mother 
and  sister  had  no  sympathy  with  her  want  of  vitality  ;  her  very  meek- 
ness had  predisposed  her  for  slavery.  If  she  could  have  asserted 
herself,  Mrs.  Hardwick  would  have  recognised  her  rights ;  but  the 
pale  shadowy  resistance  that  was  all  Anna  could  bring  in  her 
defence  only  angered  her  mother.  Mrs.  Hardwick's  fond  partiality 
for  her  handsome  daughter  disposed  her  to  see  with  Eva's  eyes ; 
and  the  result  was  a  course  of  maternal  snubbing. 

But  Anna  was  not  so  oppressed  now.  Eva  had  been  much 
offended  by  Missie's  interference.  She  ceased  to  demand  her  sister's 
services,  but  she  also  ignored  her  personality.  Anna  might  do  as 
she  liked  and  go  where  she  liked  ;  Eva  had  simply  no  interest  in 
her.  Anna  was  somewhat  confused  at  this  sudden  freedom  ;  she 
was  like  a  prisoner  restored  unexpectedly  to  the  outer  world.  But 
for  Alison,  she  would  have  been  at  a  loss  to  occupy  herself;  but 
her  friend  gave  her  many  useful  hints. 

Mrs.  Hardwick  began  to  take  some  notice  of  her  younger  daughter. 
Two  or  three  people  at  the  garden-party  had  spoken  of  Anna.     One 


132  AUNT  DIANA. 

of  them  had  called  her  a  nice  amiable  girl,  and  had  prophesied  that 
she  would  be  a  comfort  to  her  mother  when  Eva  was  married.  The 
idea  struck  Mrs.  Hardwick.  Of  course,  Eva — her  handsome  high- 
spirited  Eva — would  marry,  and  then  there  would  be  only  Anna  for 
companionship.  Mrs.  Hardwick  began  to  think  that  it  would  be  as 
well  to  bring  Anna  on  a  little.  She  commenced  by  a  serious  review 
of  her  younger  daughter's  wardrobe.  Many  of  Anne's  gowns  were 
confiscated,  as  being  tasteless  and  old-fashioned.  Poor  Anna  was 
conveyed  on  shopping  expeditions  that  filled  her  with  gratitude  and 
amazement. 

'  Mamma  is  always  buying  things  for  me  now,'  she  said,  with  a 
deprecating  blush,  as  Alison  joked  her  about  her  extravagance.  '  I 
don't  know  what  makes  her  so  kind  to  me.  She  often  takes  me  for 
a  drive,  and  talks  to  me  about  what  we  are  to  do  when  Eva  is 
married ;  and  she  was  so  pleased  the  other  day  because  Miss  Owen, 
the  dressmaker,  told  her  I  had  a  good  figure.  Poor  mamma  !  I 
wish  I  were  not  such  a  plain  little  creature,  for  she  can  never  be  so 
fond  of  me  as  she  is  of  Eva.  One  day  I  may  be  some  comfort  to 
her.' 

Alison  was  much  pleased  at  this  account ;  and  she  needed  cheer- 
ing just  now.  Roger  had  been  looking  very  worried  and  careworn 
for  some  days,  and  Alison  was  afraid,  from  her  father's  grave  face 
and  silence  with  his  son,  that  things  had  gone  wrong  again  at  the 
mill,  and  that,  as  usual,  the  blame  had  been  laid  on  Roger.  She 
was  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  him,  for  his  engagements 
had  taken  him  out  several  nights,  when  one  evening  she  met  him  as 
she  was  returning  from  the  town. 

He  was  walking  along  rather  moodily,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  and  did  not  see  Alison  until  she  called  him  by  name  ;  and 
then  he  looked  up  and  his  face  brightened  in  a  moment. 

'  Where  have  you  been,  Ailie  ? '  he  asked,  smiling  at  her ;  and 
Roger's  smile  was  very  pleasant.  *  The  house  felt  as  dull  as  a  vault 
without  you,  so  I  came  out  for  a  solitary  prowl.' 

'  Very  well,  you  shall  have  your  prowl ;  only  it  will  not  be  solitary 
any  longer,  for  I  am  not  tired  in  the  least,  and  mean  to  come  too.' 

*  Really  and  truly  not  tired,  Ailie  ?' 

'  Not  a  bit,'  returned  Alison  stoutly,  for  she  was  a  good  pedes- 
trian ;  but  even  if  she  had  been,  she  felt  she  could  have  walked  on 
gladly  till  she  was  ready  to  drop  with  fatigue,  when  she  saw  that 
pleased  look  on  Roger's  face. 


ROGER  RESOLVES   TO  WATCH.  1 33 

•Very  well,  then,'  he  said,  leading  the  way  towards  a  quiet  shady 
road,  *  1  am  just  in  the  right  mood  for  a  talk,  and  you  are  the  right 
sort  of  company.' 

'  I  am  so  glad  I  satisfy  you,  Roger,'  she  said,  looking  at  him 
affectionately.  *  I  wish  all  brothers  were  like  you,  and  cared  as 
much  for  tlieir  sisters.' 

'  So  they  would  if  all  sisters  were  your  sort,'  was  his  flattering 
answer,  only  Roger  meant  what  he  said.  '  Ailie,  of  course  I  know 
you  will  go  back  to  Aunt  Diana  one  day,  but  you  must  promise  me 
not  to  leave  us  just  yet.' 

'Oh,  Roger,  of  course  not.  How  could  I  go  while  you  wanted 
me?' 

'My  dear,  in  that  case  you  would  never  leave  us  at  all.  No,  no, 
I  am  not  quite  so  selfish  as  that.  One  day  you  shall  go,  Ailie,  but 
not  just  yet,  not  till  things  are  more  settled,  and  we  are  all  happier. 
Do  )ou  know,  dear,  I  wonder  sometimes  how  I  held  on  those  two 
years  without  you  ;  your  absence  made  me  miss  mother  more.'  And 
Roger's  lip  trembled  a  little.  Alison  pressed  his  arm  without  speak- 
ing ;  there  was  no  need  for  other  words  between  them,  they  were  so 
sure  of  each  other's  sympathy. 

When  she  broke  the  silence  it  was  to  speak  on  a  different  subject. 

'  Roger,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  has  been  troubling  you 
for  the  last  few  days.' 

He  shook  his  head  and  began  to  whistle. 

'  Something  has  gone  very  wrong,'  she  went  on  quite  steadily ; 
'  you  have  been  terribly  grave  all  the  week,  and  yesterday  you  were 
too  worried  to  eat  properly.  I  hope  you  mean  to  take  me  into 
confidence,  dear  ;  perhaps  I  could  find  some  way  of  helping  you.' 

*  I  wish  you  could,  Ailie,'  he  returned  sadly ;  '  I  tvish  I  could  see 
a  way  out  of  our  terrible  difificulties.  Promise  me  you  will  be  as 
secret  as  a  statue,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  little  of  what  has  happened.' 

'  Oh,  you  may  trust  me,'  she  replied,  lifting  her  honest  brown  eyes 
to  his  face. 

*  I  believe  I  may,  and  it  will  be  a  relief  to  speak.  Ailie,  Fergusson 
is  going  too  far;  I  am  convinced  in  my  own  mind  that  he  has  been 
tampering  with  the  accounts  ;  we  shall  come  to  a  crash  directly.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ? '  turning  a  little  pale.  Roger  spoke  so 
vehemently. 

'  It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  all,  but  something  very  un- 
pleasant has  happened  this  week.     You  know  my  father  went  to 


134  AUNT   DIANA. 

Lancaster  the  other  day.  Well,  a  cheque  in  payment  for  a  consign- 
ment of  timber  was  unexpectedly  paid  in  during  his  absence.  Of 
course  I  endorsed  the  cheque,  wrote  out  a  receipt,  enclosed  it  in  an 
envelope,  and  put  it  in  the  usual  rack  for  postage.  I  then  made  an 
entry  in  the  ledger,  and  was  just  going  to  lock  up  the  ledger  and  the 
cheque  in  the  safe,  as  it  was  nearly  time  for  closing,  when  the  sudden 
cessation  of  the  machinery  told  me  some  accident  had  happened, 
and  of  course  I  ran  out  of  the  office,  and  so  did  Fergusson.' 

'  Oh,  I  know !  when  poor  Mitchell  was  hurt,'  returned  Alison, 
with  a  shudder.  '  I  remember  seeing  both  you  and  Mr.  Fergusson 
standing  bareheaded  among  the  men  in  the  yard ;  you  were  sending 
Timothy  for  a  doctor.' 

'Yes,  I  was  detained  for  nearly  half  an  hour.  Fergusson  must 
have  gone  back  to  the  office — at  least,  I  missed  him  after  the  first 
few  minutes.  When  they  had  taken  Mitchell  off  to  the  hospital,  I 
went  back  to  lock  up  things  for  the  night.  Fergusson  was  just 
coming  out  of  the  office,  and  handed  me  the  keys.  Everything  was 
locked  up,  he  said,  and  the  messenger  had  fetched  the  letters.  I 
had  put  the  cheque  into  my  father's  private  drawer,  and  had  locked 
the  drawer,  but  the  ledger  had  been  left  open  on  the  table,  with  my 
entry  written  on  the  top  of  a  blank  page.  I  had  noticed  the  page 
was  a  little  loose,  as  though  the  corresponding  one  had  been  cut 
out  some  time  previously  ;  but  I  was  in  a  hurry,  and  I  thought  it 
did  not  matter.  When  Fergusson  told  me  everything  was  locked 
up  for  the  night,  and  handed  me  the  office  keys,  of  course  there  was 
nothing  for  me  but  to  take  them.  Ailie,  what  do  you  suppose  were 
my  feelings  when  we  opened  the  private  drawer  the  next  morning 
ixnd  there  was  no  cheque  there?  Neither  was  my  entry  in  the 
ledger  ;  the  loose  page  was  gone,  and,  to  add  to  my  perplexity,  the 
firm  who  had  paid  in  the  cheque  wrote  to  complain  that  there  had 
been  no  acknowledgment  or  receipt :  and  yet  I  had  written  both 
myself,  and  placed  tiie  stamped  envelope  among  the  other  letters  for 
postage.' 

'  Roger,'  exclaimed  Alison  passionately,  *  this  must  be  Fergusson's 
doings  ;  he  must  have  tampered  with  your  letter  and  cut  out  the 
entry  in  the  ledger,  and  of  course  the  cheque  is  in  his  possession.' 

'  Wait  a  moment,  Ailie,'  returned  Roger,  looking  very  stern  and 
pale.  '  The  cheque  was  cashed  the  next  morning  by  a  clerk  of  ours 
who  was  turned  away  for  dishonesty ;  but  the  bank  did  not  know 
that,  and  thought  him  still  in  our  employ,  so  the  money  is  lost  to 


ROGER  RESOLVES  TO   WATCH.  1 35 

us.  My  father  is  dreadfully  angry  and  puzzled  about  the  whole 
affair,  but  he  does  not  suspect  Fergusson.  He  flew  in  a  perfect  rage 
when  I  hinted  about  his  gambling  debts.  He  blames  me  for  care- 
lessness ;  he  says  I  ought  not  to  have  left  the  office  without  locking 
up  both  the  ledger  and  the  cheque  in  the  iron  safe.  Fergusson  has 
told  my  fcither  that  he  saw  Ibbotson  (that  is  the  name  of  the  clerk 
we  dismissed)  hanging  about  the  yard,  talking  to  the  men.  He  de- 
clares tliat  while  we  were  in  the  yard  Ibbotson  must  have  got  into 
the  office,  turned  over  the  letters,  and  abstracted  my  receipt ;  he 
must  have  read  the  entry  in  the  open  ledger,  and  he  knew  all  the 
keys,  and  would  easily  find  the  cheque.  He  has  gulled  my  father 
completely  ;  he  has  actually'  made  him  believe  that,  in  ten  minutes, 
or  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  the  most,  Ibbotson  could  cut  out  the  page 
in  the  ledger,  track  the  cheque  to  the  private  drawer,  hunt  out  my 
receipt,  and  make  his  escape — and  all  this  without  any  preconceived 
plan.  Why,  the  whole  thing  is  monstrous  and  utterly  improbable. 
I  am  positive  that  the  only  thing  Ibbotson  has  done  is  to  cash  the 
cheque.' 

'  Roger,  oh,  how  dreadful  it  all  is !  Of  course,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  in  your  own  mind  who  did  it  all  ? ' 

'  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  in  my  own  mind,  Ailie  ;  but  how 
am  I  to  bring  my  father  to  believe  it  ?  Ibbotson  has  left  the  place, 
or  he  was  actually  going  to  set  the  detectives  on  him.  Fergusson 
has  completely  hoodwinked  him.  Circumstantial  evidence  is  strong 
against  Fergusson,  to  my  thinking.  Judge  for  yourself,  Ailie.  He 
was  with  me  in  the  office  when  I  opened  the  cheque  ;  he  saw  me 
make  the  entry  in  the  ledger,  as  well  as  write  the  receipt ;  he  also 
must  have  seen  me  thrust  the  cheque  hastily  into  the  private  drawer 
before  I  ran  out  into  the  yard.  No  doubt  he  returned  to  the  office 
as  soon  as  my  attention  was  engrossed  with  poor  Mitchell.  A  few 
minutes  was  all  that  was  needed  to  accomplish  the  job,  Ailie.  I  have 
found  out  to-day  that  he  is  terribly  involved,  and  that  his  creditors 
are  threatening  him.  I  told  you  things  are  coming  to  a  crash.  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  lose  more  than  the  sum  we  received  from  Simmonds 
Brothers.' 

*  Oh,  Roger,  how  blind  father  is  !  What  are  you  to  do  to  open 
his  eyes  ? ' 

'  I  am  going  to  watch  Fergusson,'  returned  Roger,  with  a  frown 
of  anxiety.  'Ailie,  I  never  meant  to  have  told  you  this.  I  have 
been  about  the  town  gleaning  facts  to-day,  but  I  mean  to  keep  them 


136  AUNT   DIANA. 

to  myself  for  the  next  four-and-twenty  hours.  Fergusson  has  arrived 
at  some  sort  of  crisis  in  his  aftairs.  I  am  afraid  he  will  do  something 
desperate.  A  sum  of  money  has  come  into  our  hands  to-day  after 
banking  hours,  in  notes  and  gold.  I  wanted  my  father  to  bring  it 
up  to  the  house,  but  he  scouted  the  idea  as  ridiculous,  as  though  any 
thief  could  open  an  iron  safe  ;  but,  Ailie,  I  am  not  comfortable  in 
my  mind.  Supposing  Fergusson  has  a  duplicate  key  ?  My  father 
is  so  hopelessly  duped  that  it  is  no  use  saying  any  more  to  him.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  watch  the  office  to-night.' 

*  But  not  alone,  dear  ? ' 

*  Yes,  of  course.  Timothy  will  be  there,  if  I  need  help  ;  but  I 
don't  mean  to  take  him  into  confidence.  There  is  a  barge  that 
passes  at  ten  to-night.  The  bargee  is  an  acquaintance  of  mine. 
I  told  him  to  look  out  for  me  by  the  bridge.  I  will  get  him  to  land 
me  at  the  lower  end  of  the  yard.  Timothy  will  be  in  his  shed  by 
that  time,  thinking  about  his  supper.  I  don't  want  him  to  see  me, 
or  he  will  enlighten  Fergusson.  There  is  a  handy  wood-pile  just 
outside  the  office  where  I  can  lie  snug.' 

'  Roger  !' exclaimed  Alison,  in  a  quick,  determined  voice,  'you 
shall  not  go  alone  ;  I  shall  watch  with  you.'  And  as  he  was  about 
to  interrupt  her  she  went  on  quietly,  '  You  know  Missie  and  Miss 
Leigh  will  be  out  until  half-past  ten.  Papa  is  always  in  his  study. 
They  will  think  I  am  in  bed.  I  can  lock  my  door  and  put  the  key 
in  my  pocket,  and  you  have  the  latch-key.  I  will  be  no  trouble  to 
you.  I  will  be  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  and  not  hinder  you.  I  could 
not  rest — I  could  not  sleep,  knowing  you  were  with  that  bad  man. 
I  will  be  useful  as  a  witness.     You  must  take  me,  Roger.' 

*  Are  you  sure  that  you  mean  it — that  it  will  not  hurt  you  ? '  he 
asked  slowly. 

'What  should  hurt  me  on  a  summer's  night?  And  the  barge  will 
be  such  fun.' 

'  Very  well,  you  shall  come  if  you  like.  You  are  a  plucky  girl, 
Ailie.' 

And  Alison  was  so  pleased  with  the  permission  that  she  gave  his 
arm  a  little  squeeze  of  gratitude. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CAUGHT     IN     THE    ACT. 

IT  was  still  early  in  the  evening  when  the  young  conspirators 
returned  to  the  house,  and  the  next  two  hours  passed  very 
slowly  to  Alison. 
V  Her  nerves  were  in  that  fine  tension  that  precedes  an  expected 
crisis.  She  was  restless  and  excited,  and  any  sort  of  employment 
seemed  impossible.  Rudel's  Latin  was  tiresome,  and  presented 
itself  in  the  light  of  an  irksome  duty.  Poppie's  fun  and  caresses — 
for  the  child  was  as  frolicsome  as  a  kitten,  especially  at  wrong  times 
— jarred  on  her  longing  for  quiet.  It  was  a  relief  when  the  little  girl 
went  off  unwillingly  to  bed,  and  especially  when  Rudel  shut  up  his 
books  on  the  pretext  of  sleepiness,  and  went  upstairs,  slouching 
heavily,  after  the  fashion  of  school-boys. 

It  was  then  past  nine,  and  Mr.  Merle  was  shut  safely  in  his  study. 
Alison  went  quickly  into  her  room  and  made  her  little  preparation. 
A  brown  hat  she  had  discarded  as  being  too  shabby  would  just  suit 
her  nocturnal  purpose ;  her  dress  was  dark,  and  a  warm  jacket  was 
all  she  needed  ;  and,  carefully  turning  down  her  gas  and  locking  her 
door,  she  crept  quietly  downstairs,  to  find  Roger  waiting  for  her  in 
the  dark  entry. 

He  nodded  and  held  out  his  hand  to  her  without  speaking,  until 
they  were  outside  the  gate  and  were  walking  rapidly  down  the  road 
that  would  lead  them  to  the  bridge. 

'  I  have  brought  this  plaid,'  he  observed  presently,  showing  it  to 
her.  '  I  was  so  afraid  you  would  find  it  cold  if  we  should  have  to 
watch  many  hours.  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  have  brought  you,  Ailie; 
but  you  would  come,  you  know.' 

'  I  could  not  have  stopped  at  home,'  was  Alison's  quick  answer. 
'Is  this  the  bridge  where  we  are  to  wait,  Roger?  How  black  the 
canal  looks  !  Are  you  glad  it  is  such  a  dark  night — no  moon,  and 
hardly  a  star  to  be  seen  ? ' 


138  AUNT  DIANA. 

'  I  am  afraid  we  are  going  to  have  rain,'  he  returned,  in  a  vexed 
voice.  '  I  do  not  mind  the  moon  being  absent ;  the  darkness  is  in 
our  favour.  But  what  am  I  to  do  with  you,  Ailie,  if  we  have  a  wet 
night?     You  will  catch  your  death  of  cold.' 

'  Nonsense,'  replied  Alison  stoutly.  But,  nevertheless,  she  felt  an 
inward  twinge  of  discomfort.  Neither  of  them  had  thought  of  the 
weather.  How  weird  and  eerie  everything  looked  in  the  obscure 
light,  the  dark  towing-path  and  the  sluggish  canal,  the  tall  factories, 
and  beyond  them  the  dim  wood-piles  and  sheds  stretching  away  into 
the  distance.  Now  and  then  the  sudden  splash  of  a  water  rat  broke 
on  their  ear,  then  the  heavy  tramp  of  some  belated  passenger  passing 
over  the  bridge ;  the  very  barge  that  came  floating  towards  them  out 
of  the  darkness  seemed  to  hold  dark  grisly  shapes  upon  it.  She 
almost  shuddered  when  the  men's  faint  *  hulloa '  answered  Roger's 
signal.  Fragments  of  old  mythological  tales  seemed  to  rise  to  her 
memory.  She  thought  of  Charon  rowing  his  boat  full  of  souls  across 
the  sable  Styx,  as  she  took  her  place  in  the  barge. 

In  a  few  minutes  Roger  was  helping  her  to  scramble  on  shore. 
They  were  now  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  timber-yard,  and  had  some 
way  to  walk. 

'We  must  not  speak  above  our  breath,'  whispered  Roger  cauti- 
ously in  her  ear.  'I  hope  Timothy  is  safe  in  his  shed  eating  his  supper  ; 
but  if  he  and  Nettle  were  to  meet  us  it  would  be  rather  awkward 
to  account  for  our  presence  at  this  time  of  night ;  in  fact,  my  litde 
game  would  be  frustrated.  I  am  more  afraid  of  Nettle  than  of  Tim- 
othy. Give  me  your  hand,  Ailie ;  there  are  awkward  bits  of  wood 
every  now  and  then,  and  you  may  stumble.' 

And  Alison  soon  verified  his  prediction,  for  only  Roger's  strong 
band  saved  her  from  falling  again  and  again. 

Long  before  they  had  reached  their  destination  the  heavy 
patter  of  raindrops  warned  them  to  make  haste  ;  but  in  the  un- 
certain light,  and  with  so  rough  a  path — for  Roger  had  chosen  a 
narrow  by-path  instead  of  the  main  road — their  speed  was  greatly 
retarded. 

'  Here  we  are  at  last,'  whispered  Roger  ;  '  follow  me  closely,  Ailie.' 
And  as  she  obeyeci,  holding  his  coat  to  give  her  courage,  it  really 
seemed  to  her  as  though  she  were  entering  a  dark  cavern.  A  pitchy 
blackness  was  round  them  ;  Roger's  groping  only  led  them  still 
farther  into  the  darkness.  Alison  experienced  a  sense  of  suffocation 
until  a  ray  of  murky  light  showed  her  where  she  was — at  the  farther 


CAUGHT   IN   THE  ACT.  1 39 

entrance  of  one  of  the  wood-piles,  with  the  office  windows  within  a 
few  yards  of  them, 

Alison  breathed  more  freely  when  she  recognised  her  position. 
The  interlaced  planks  formed  an  arched  chamber,  where  they  could 
move  with  comfort  and  be  sheltered  from  the  rain — unless  it  were 
continuous  and  heavy,  and  then  it  would  find  its  way  through  the 
wide  gaps ;  but  for  a  little  while  they  would  be  safe.  Roger  spread 
the  plaid  near  the  entrance,  and  bade  his  sister  make  herself  as 
comfortable  as  circumstances  permitted,  while  he  went  a  little  way 
to  reconnoitre. 

Alison  longed  for  him  to  stay  where  he  was  ;  it  was  wonderful  how 
soon  her  feminine  timidity  asserted  itself  directly  she  was  left  alone. 
In  spite  of  all  her  reasoning,  she  found  the  darkness  behind  her 
appalling.  \Yhen  she  was  swallowed  up  in  it,  her  thoughts  would 
run  upon  gloomy  subjects,  such  as  dungeons  with  mere  eyelets  in  the 
wall  for  windows,  or  the  narrow  labyrinthine  galleries  of  mines 
plunged  deep  in  the  recesses  of  the  earth  ;  her  mind  took  exploring 
flights  into  all  sorts  of  dreary  places  before  he  came  back  to  her, 
with  his  face  wet  with  raindrops,  and  took  his  allotted  share  of 
the  rug. 

Alison  slid  a  very  cold  little  hand  into  his,  and  would  not  be  de- 
terred by  his  wet  coat-sleeve  from  imperceptibly  lessening  the  distance 
between  them,  until  she  found  his  shoulder  a  support,  and  then  she 
declared  in  a  cheerful  voice,  without  much  feigning,  that  she  was 
quite  comfortable,  and  would  not  mind  how  long  she  stopped  there. 

'  I  hope  I  have  not  brought  you  on  a  wild-goose  chase,'  returned 
Roger,  a  little  ruefull)\  'Timothy  is  eating  his  supper;  it  looks 
like  cold  tripe  and  onions,  but  one  cannot  be  sure  of  anything  in 
this  world,  so  I  may  be  wrong,  and  Nettle  is  gnawing  a  bone  with 
much  gusto.  We  shall  have  to  be  careful  when  he  goes  his  rounds, 
for  the  least  movement  will  attract  Nettle.  Hush  !  What  is  that  ? ' 
as  a  slight  sound  was  plainly  audible.  '  Don't  move,  I  implore  you, 
Ailie  !'  And  Roger  cautiously  raised  himself  on  his  hands  and  knees 
and  crept  a  few  paces  nearer  to  the  entrance,  but  in  a  moment  he 
returned,  and  bade  Alison  in  a  whisper  move  farther  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

'  It  is  Fergusson  ;  I  heard  his  voice,'  he  whispered ;  '  Nettle  barked, 
and  he  spoke  to  her.  Come  a  little  farther ;  Timothy  has  his  lantern, 
and  he  might  turn  it  on  us  ;  and  now  not  a  word  if  you  can  help 
it.     Are  you  frightened,  dear  ? ' 


140  AUNT  DIANA. 

'  No,'  returned  Alison,  a  little  unsteadily,  but  at  that  moment  she 
was  certainly  wishing  herself  and  Roger  safely  at  home.  He  seemed 
to  comprehend  her  feelings,  for  he  patted  her  cheek,  and  called  her 
his  good,  brave  little  Ailie,  which  restored  her  good  opinion  of  herself, 
and  gave  her  fresh  courage.  Roger's  caution  was  not  in  vain :  a  sudden 
flare  of  light  penetrated  the  entrance  of  the  wood-pile ;  they  could 
see  Nettle  trotting  on  in  front,  and  behind  her  the  two  men ;  but  at 
the  moment  the  lantern  was  lowered,  and  Timothy's  face  was  turned 
to  his  companion. 

*  A  wet  night,  master,'  he  said,  in  a  grumbling  voice ;  *  there's  no 
fear  of  sparks  or  fireworks  to-night  from  the  Cremona  Gardens.  Nettle 
and  me  will  just  go  on  our  beat,  and  then  we'll  go  back  to  the  shed 
again.' 

'  All  right,  Timothy,'  returned  the  manager  briskly..  *  I  must  just 
hunt  for  the  paper  I  told  you  about.  Possibly  I  may  be  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  in  the  office  ;  but  I  will  call  out  to  you  when  I  am  ready  for 
you  to  let  me  out  of  the  yard.' 

'  Ay,  ay,  I  will  let  you  out,  sure  enough,  Master  Fergusson  ;  if 
so  be  as  you  strike  upon  the  little  window  in  the  shed.  Now,  Nettle, 
lass,  we'll  be  going.'     And  the  old  man  moved  on  slowly, 

'Don't  move,  Ailie;  I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,'  whispered  Roger 
in  her  ear. 

And  Alison  remained  where  she  was,  feeling  the  dampness  all 
round  her,  an  unpleasant  moisture  beginning  to  trickle  down  her 
neck.  The  rain  was  pouring  in  torrents  outside  ;  its  very  violence 
promised  short  duration.     Presently  Roger  crept  back  to  her. 

*  It  is  just  as  I  said,'  he  began  hurriedly.  '  He  is  unlocking  the 
safe;  he  has  a  duplicate  key — I  was  sure  of  it.  There  is  not  a  mo- 
ment to  lose.  I  dare  not  trust  Timothy.  I  must  go  for  my  father. 
Ailie,  may  I  leave  you  here  ?  You  are  perfectly  safe — no  one  would 
harm  you.  But  one  of  us  must  watch  Fergusson ;  which  shall  it 
be?' 

'  You  must  go,  Roger,'  she  exclaimed,  pushing  him  from  her,  but 
speaking  with  chattering  teeth.  *  You  will  go  more  quickly,  and  will 
know  how  to  avoid  Timothy.' 

Alison  did  not  add  that  her  limbs  were  trembling  so  with  sudden 
fright  and  excitement  that  she  doubted  their  efficiency  in  carrying  her 
so  far.  Her  private  opinion  was  that,  after  all,  she  was  not  fit  for 
such  an  emergency,  and  she  could  help  Roger  best  by  quiescent 
watching. 


CAUGHT   IN    THE   ACT.  14! 

•  Yes,  go ;  no  one  can  hurt  me,'  she  repeated,  panting  a  little  over 
her  words.  But  the  darkness,  though  abhorrent  to  her  feminine 
nerves,  was  useful  in  hiding  her  paleness  and  trembling  lips  from 
Roger. 

'  Very  well ;  keep  up  your  courage,  Ailie,  and  do  not  lose  sight 
of  the  villain,'  he  returned,  creeping  gently  past  her,  '  I  will  bring 
father  back  in  no  time.  Wait  where  you  are  until  Timothy  has 
passed  again.' 

Alison's  reply  was  inaudible,  but  her  mute  assent  testified 
obedience.  That  moment  she  was  literally  beyond  speech ;  the 
horrid  darkness  seemed  to  swallow  her  up  again ;  a  nervous  oppres- 
sion made  her  heart  beat  with  distressing  quickness.  It  was  quite 
a  relief  when  Timothy  passed  again  ;  the  familiar  figure  in  the  heavy 
watchman's  coat  gave  her  a  comforting  sense  of  human  support,  and 
took  away  the  appalling  sense  of  isolation  with  only  criminal  deal- 
ings near  at  hand. 

'  What  a  coward  I  am,'  she  thought,  *  as  though  a  watchful 
Providence  were  not  near  me ! '  And  Alison  whispered  to  herself 
the  comforting  collect,  'Lighten  our  darkness,'  feeling  as  though 
the  mere  utterance  of  the  familiar  petition,  used  nightly  from  her 
childhood,  brought  a  sense  of  safety  to  her.  '  And  now  I  must 
only  think  of  Roger  and  papa,'  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  groped 
her  way  towards  the  entrance.  Timothy  had  retreated  to  his  shed 
with  Nettle,  and  there  was  no  danger  of  being  surprised.  There 
w^as  another  wood-pile  overshadowing  the  office  roof.  No  doubt 
Roger  had  stood  there  when  he  had  peeped  into  the  window. 
Perhaps  she  might  safely  do  the  same.  Roger  had  told  her  to 
watch,  and  here  she  could  see  nothing. 

She  stole  cautiously  across  the  open  path,  and  in  another  moment 
she  was  standing  outside  the  office  window.  There  were  two  win- 
dows, for  this  one  was  necessarily  darkened  by  the  wood-pile,  but 
over  the  other  the  blind  had  been  lowered  to  shut  out  prying 
glances.  Alison  supposed,  as  Roger  had,  that  he  had  locked  him- 
self in  to  carry  on  his  unhallowed  work.  The  dark  background  of 
piled-up  planks  quite  overshadowed  the  white  girlish  face  peering 
in  at  the  uncurtained  window. 

She  was  frightened  at  her  own  daring,  but  she  remembered  that 
she  was  Roger's  witness ;  it  was  necessary  for  her  own  eyes  to  testify 
of  Fergusson's  dishonest  doings.  Now  there  could  be  no  mistake ; 
the  open  safe  was  conclusive,  and  so  were  the  notes  and  gold  that 


142  AUNT   DIANA. 

he  was  stowing  away  in  that  great  black  bag.  Alison  watched,  half 
fascinated  by  horror.  He  had  nearly  finished  ;  yes,  he  was  locking 
his  bag  and  closing  the  safe,  the  candle  stood  guttering  beside  him 
on  a  chair,  not  on  the  table ;  he  almost  pushed  against  it  as  he  went 
to  the  door  and  set  it  open.  Yes,  he  had  locked  himself  in,  for  she 
could  see  him  take  the  key  out  and  fix  it  carefully  in  the  outer  lock, 
and  then  he  went  back  into  the  room.  Oh,  what  had  become  of 
Roger?  In  another  moment  he  could  have  escaped  with  his  booty. 
The  main  entrance  to  the  timber-yard  was  in  the  opposite  direction 
to  the  private  door  opening  into  the  garden  of  I'he  Holms.  Even 
if  Roger  and  her  father  were  coming  in  this  moment,  Fergusson 
would  have  no  difficulty  in  eluding  them.  It  was  true  the  door  was 
locked  and  Timothy  had  the  key,  but  he  could  easily  swim  across 
the  canal  and  reach  the  towing-path  unseen. 

Alison's  agony  was  rising  to  a  pitch  that  almost  justified  rashness. 
She  was  becoming  desperate  in  spite  of  her  terror.  A  sudden 
thought  came  to  her,  thnlHng  her  with  horror — could  she  do  it? 
yes,  for  Roger's  sake  she  would  try.  Another  second  she  was 
gliding  round  the  little  building  and  passed  the  curtained  window 
with  a  gleam  of  light  shining  through  the  crevice.  As  she  passed 
it  there  was  sudden  darkness  ;  he  had  extinguished  tlie  candle.  In 
another  instant  Alison  had  shut  the  door,  almost  knocking  Fer- 
gusson back,  if  she  had  known  it,  and  had  turned  the  key  in  the 
lock.  Alison  had  felt  a  quick  hysteric  sob  rise  in  her  throat  as  she 
heard  the  key  turning  under  her  hand.  Had  she  really  done  it? 
Had  some  unseen  presence  beside  her  given  her  the  needful 
strength?  Was  the  dishonest  servant  a  prisoner,  and  she  his  captor? 
But  Alison  had  no  time  to  do  more  tlian  ask  herself  these  questions, 
for  Timothy  came  out  of  his  shed,  and  was  hobbling  towards  her, 
and  the  next  moment  the  key  was  in  Alison's  pocket,  and  she  was 
standing  at  bay. 

'  What  does  this  mean,  miss  ?  How  came  you  here  ? '  exclaimed  , 
the  old  man  suspiciously,  while  Nettle  jumped  up  and  licked  her  '■ 
hand.  " 

'  I  have  locked  Mr.  Fergusson  in  ;  he  is  stealing  papa's  money 
out  of  the  safe,'  returned  Alison,  turning  her  white  face  to  Timothy, 
and  the  sob  rising  in  her  throat  again.  '  I  will  not  give  up  the  key 
until  papa  comes.' 

A  fierce  kick  at  the  door  behind  her  drove  her  from  it  a  few 
paces. 


CAUGHT   IN   THE  ACT.  I43 

'  Let  rne  out,  Timothy  ! '  thundered  Fergusson.  '  The  girl  is  mad  ; 
she  must  be  out  of  her  mind  to  say  such  things.  Mr.  Merle  desired 
me  to  look  over  some  papers  for  him;  they  are  most  important, 
and  there  must  be  no  delay.' 

'You  hear  what  he  says,  miss,'  returned  Timothy,  rather 
roughly ;  '  we  must  not  keep  the  master's  manager  locked  up.  I 
warrant  you  it  is  all  right ;  they  keep  them  papers  in  the  safe.  Give 
me  the  key  and  I  will  open  the  door  for  the  gentleman.' 

'  Not  until  papa  comes,'  was  Alison's  reply  ;  and,  in  spite  of 
Timothy's  surly  remonstrances  and  Fergusson's  imprecations,  she 
remained  firm.  Timothy  was  driven  to  his  wits'  end  what  to  do 
with  the  daft  lass,  as  he  called  her,  when  sudden  footsteps  were 
heard,  and  Alison  darted  forward  to  meet  them. 

'  Papa,  I  saw  him  at  the  safe ;  he  was  putting  the  gold  and  notes 
into  his  bag.  I  saw  him  do  it ! '  she  cried  excitedly.  '  He  blew 
out  the  candle,  and  then  I  locked  him  in.     Here  is  the  key.' 

'  Timothy,  go  at  once  to  the  police-station ! '  exclaimed  Mr. 
Merle,  in  a  voice  they  had  never  heard  before  ;  it  was  so  hoarse  with 
indignation.  '  Roger,  take  your  sister  into  the  house.  There  is  a 
fire  in  my  study ;  1  will  wait  here.' 

'  No,  no  ;  I  can  go  alone,'  returned  Alison.  '  Roger  must  not 
leave  you,  papa.' 

But  he  repeated  in  the  same  curt  way,  '  Take  your  sister  away, 
Roger,  and  be  back  as  soon  as  you  can.'  And  Roger,  who  under- 
stood his  father,  hurried  her  across  the  yard  and  the  garden,  and 
did  not  leave  her  until  she  was  in  the  warm,  brightly  lit  study. 

'Take  off  your  wet  jacket,  Ailie,'  he  charged  her,  as  he  left  her  j 
but  there  was  no  time  to  say  more. 

Alison  obeyed  him.  She  took  off"  her  dripping  hat  also  ;  and 
then  she  sat  down  on  the  rug  and  laid  her  head  against  her  fathers 
chair,  and  a  flood  of  tears  relieved  her  over-wrought  nerves.  Roger 
found  her  still  in  the  same  position  when  he  came  in  half  an  hour 
later;  but  the  tears  were  flowing  more  quietly.  In  his  boyish 
exuberance,  he  lifted  her  up  as  though  she  were  a  child. 

'  Here  she  is,  father,  crying  her  pretty  eyes  out!  And  no  wonder, 
when  she  is  so  cold  and  tired.  Ailie,  do  you  know  you  are  a  perfect 
heroine  !     You  have  done  a  plucky  thing,  and  no  mistake  ! ' 

'Come  and  kiss  me,  Alison,  my  dear!'  said  Mr.  Merle.  'You 
are  a  brave  girl,  and  have  saved  your  poor  father's  credit.  Roger 
and  you  have  done  nobly  to-night.     I  have  let  myself  be  duped  by 


144  AUNT   DIANA. 

a  dishonest  rogue.  Give  me  your  hand,  boy;  it  does  not  become 
a  man  to  ask  his  own  son  to  forgive  him,  but  I  think  we  shall 
understand  each  other  better  from  this  day.' 

Roger's  eyes  glistened  as  he  wrung  his  father's  hand. 

'  I  knew  it  would  come  all  right  some  day,'  he  said,  with  an 
honest  blush,  as  Mr,  Merle  looked  at  him,  half  sadly,  half  proudly  ; 
'  it  was  only  Fergusson  who  made  mischief  between  us.' 

'  Yes,  but  I  ought  not  to  have  believed  him,'  returned  Mr.  Merle, 
in  a  contrite  voice.  '  I  was  too  hasty,  Roger  ;  and,  after  all,  you 
are  the  better  man  of  business.  I  have  always  been  too  much  of  a 
bookworm.  Well,  well,  you  have  broad  shoulders,  and  we  must 
make  them  serviceable.  Now,  Alison,  my  dear,  you  had  better  bid 
us  both  good-night,  for  your  cheeks  are  much  too  pale.  Go  to 
sleep  and  forget  everything  except  that  you  have  been  a  good  child. 
Roger  and  I  must  have  some  talk  together.'  And,  kissing  her  with 
a  greater  degree  of  affection  than  he  had  ever  manifested  for  her, 
he  dismissed  her  to  seek  the  repose  she  so  much  needed. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

'you   MAY   LEAVE   MABEL   TO    ME.' 

There  is  a  certain  narrowness  in  human  nature.  One  may  not 
object,  for  example,  to  be  considered  in  the  Hght  of  a  heroine ; 
there  may  be  even  inward  promptings  that  corroborate  the 
general  opinion,  whispering  that  we  are  only  receiving  our  due. 
But  it  is  quite  another  thing  to  have  to  regard  one's  sister  in 
that  luminous  character. 

Missie's  feelings  were  decidedly  mixed  when  Roger,  in  his  father's 
temporary  absence,  related  at  the  breakfast-table  the  whole  story  of 
the  previous  night.  Poppie's  eyes  grew  very  wide,  and  Miss  Leigh 
cried  a  little  ;  but  Rudels  excitement  was  a  sight  to  behold. 

'  Well,  if  that  is  not  the  cheekiest  thing,'  he  exclaimed,  with  school- 
boy eloquence,  drumming  with  his  elbows  on  the  table  for  once 
unrebuked  by  the  governess.  '  What  a  lark  !  I  wish  I  had  been 
there.  So  the  old  cadger  is  caught,  is  he  ?  Well,  this  is  a  queer 
start.  Ailie  has  lots  of  go  in  her  for  a  girl ;  I'll  back  her  against 
a  dozen  for  pluck,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.'  And,  quite  overpowered 
with  the  magnihcence  of  his  eulogy,  Rudel  subsided  into  a  series  of 
chuckles. 

Alison  was  a  little  surprised  by  the  attention  she  received.  Her 
pale  cheeks  and  heavy  eyes  secured  a  good  deal  of  petting.  Mr. 
Merle  questioned  her  anxiously  whether  she  had  caught  cold ;  Miss 
Leigh  fairly  overflowed  with  tender  inquiries  ;  Roger  waited  on  her 
zealously,  and  Rudel  sat  staring  at  her,  to  the  obvious  neglect  of  his 
breakfast,  until  Alison  asked  him  mildly  what  he  was  looking  at,  and 
then  he  blushed  in  some  confusion.  Nobody  seemed  to  notice 
Missie's  perverse  silence.  Even  Mr.  Merle  was  too  much  occupied 
with  Alison  to  give  his  usual  attention  to  his  favourite.  Missie 
shrugged  her  shoulders  a  little  over  the  whole  affair.  She  thought 
Roger  was  dosing  them  ad  tiauscam.  Alison  had  done  very  little 
after  all,  but  they  were  all  making  such  a  fuss  over  it.      She  was 

I4S  K 


146  ;^  AUNT   DIANA. 

doubly  vexed  when  Miss  Hardwick  came  in,  full  of  enthusiasm  for 
that  dear  clever  Alfion.  She  had  met  Roger,  and  he  had  stopped 
and  given  her  and  Anna  a  full  account — a  great  condescension  on 
his  pait,  but  circumstances  clearly  justified  a  truce;  his  old  enemy 
had  no  power  to  provoke  him  on  this  morning.  Missie  had  to  listen 
to  more  eulogiums,  though  Alison  modestly  disclaimed  all  praise. 
Miss  Hardwick  quite  frightened  her  when  she  assured  her  the  whole 
thing  would  be  soon  all  over  the  town. 

'  You  will  be  a  nine  days'  wonder,  my  dear,'  she  said,  graciously. 
*  People  will  stare  at  you  when  you  walk  through  the  streets.  Fancy 
locking  the  wretch  in  !  My  dear  Alison,  how  did  you  know  he  had 
not  got  a  pistol?  It  was  quite  horrible  and  romantic.  I  must  run 
home  and  tell  mamma  and  Anthony  all  about  it.' 

All  this  was  rather  a  trial  to  Alison.  Perhaps  the  greatest  pleasure 
the  day  afforded  was  when  Roger  showed  her  a  letter  he  had  written 
to  Aunt  Diana. 

'  Oh,  you  foolish  boy,'  she  said,  colouring  with  gratification  as  she 
read  the  glowing  sentences,  written  straight  from  Roger's  warm  heart. 
But  the  tears  were  very  near  the  surface  too.  There  was  a  little 
space  left,  and  she  wrote  hurriedly  across  it,  when  Roger  had  left  the 
room  a  moment :  '  Don't  believe  all  P.oger  says,  dear  Aunt  Di.  I 
never  felt  more  frightened  in  my  life ;  heroines  are  not  made  of  such 
cowardly  stuff.  They  do  not  act  in  a  panic ;  they  all  make  a  great 
deal  too  much  of  it.' 

Miss  Carrington  smiled  over  this  last  sentence.  She  had  read 
Roger's  letter  with  grave  and  over-mastering  interest. 

'Poor  little  Ailie!'  she  said  to  herself.  'She  has  a  girl's  notion  of 
what  constitutes  a  heroine.  I  dare  say  many  a  heroine  has  been 
horribly  afraid  before  now.  It  seems  to  me  that  being  frightened 
and  yet  doing  the  right  thing  makes  a  heroine.' 

Alison  would  have  been  quite  happy  during  the  next  few  days 
except  for  the  depressing  effect  of  Missie's  ill-humour.  Missie  was 
plainly  suffering  from  a  bad  attack  of  jealousy.  Alison  seemed  the 
centre  of  every  one's  attention  just  then.  Her  father  referred  to  her 
judgment  and  asked  her  opinion ;  Roger  thought  of  no  one  else,  and 
even  Rudel  began  to  develop  a  canine  sort  of  fidelity,  which  chiefly 
consisted  in  following  Alison  about  the  house  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  hindering  her  by  injudicious  questions,  relating  princi- 
pally to  the  state  of  the  larder  and  what  pudding  had  been  selected 
for  luncheon. 


'YOU   MAY   LEAVE   MABEL   TO   ME.'  I47 

All  this  was  too  much  for  Missie's  selfish  nature  to  endure,  and 
she  withdrew  to  seek  consolation  in  Eva's  flatteries.  Her  visits  to 
Maplewood  were  now  of  daily  occurrence.  Alison  once  ventured  to 
remonstrate. 

'  1  do  not  think  papa  would  be  quite  pleased,  Mabel,  if  he  knew 
you  were  so  much  in  Captain  Harper's  company,'  she  said,  very 
gently. 

'  Captain  Harper,  indeed  ! '  returned  Missie,  haughtily.  *  You 
need  not  trouble  yourself,  Alison.     My  visits  are  not  to  him.' 

'  No,  dear,  of  course  not,'  replied  Ahson,  in  a  pleading  tone — she 
was  very  anxious  not  to  irritate  her.  '  But,  all  the  same,  you  are 
going  every  day  to  Maplewood,  and  that  throws  you  necessarily  into 
his  company.  Miss  Hardwick  cannot  well  banish  her  cousin  from 
the  room  ;  and,  Mabel,  I  do  feel ' — hesitating  a  little,  for  fear  she 
was  speaking  too  strongly — '  that  it  is  not  quite  honourable  to  papa. 
He  trusts  us  to  carry  out  his  expressed  wishes,  and  in  this  you  are 
setting  them  aside.' 

Missie's  fair  face  became  suffused  with  crimson.  Evidently  Alison's 
honest  speech  went  straight  to  her  conscience ;  but  in  some  moods 
nothing  is  more  vexing  than  to  be  put  in  the  wrong. 

'  I  wish  you  would  mind  your  own  business,  Alison,'  she  said, 
angrily.  *  You  have  no  right  to  lecture  me  because  you  are  the 
eldest.  Eva  says  I  am  quite  justified  in  asserting  myself.  I  hope  I 
know  my  duty  without  your  always  pointing  it  out  to  me,  and  you 
may  leave  papa  to  me.  We  have  always  understood  each  other  per- 
fectly, and  there  is  never  anything  wrong  between  us  unless  you 
choose  to  go  and  tell  tales.' 

*  Mabel,  how  can  you  be  so  disagreeable  ? '  began  Alison,  hotly. 
But  she  cooled  down  on  remembering  Aunt  Diana's  advice — 'Never 
get  warm  over  an  argument,  Ailie.  When  you  begin  to  feel  angry  it 
is  time  to  hold  your  tongue.'     And  Alison  held  hers. 

She  would  have  been  a  little  comforted  if  she  had  known  how  ill 
at  ease  Missie  really  was.  Her  high  complexion  and  cross  speech 
only  proved  that  the  arrow  had  gone  home.  She  knew  in  her  secret 
heart  that  she  was  behaving  dishonourably.  Her  father  trusted  her, 
and  she  was  betraying  his  trust.  The  very  next  day  she  had  planned 
to  join  Eva  and  her  cousin  in  a  pleasure  excursion,  though  she  knew 
it  was  an  act  of  tacit  disobedience  ;  but  self-will  only  gains  strength 
by  indulgence.  Missie's  imperious  temper  made  her  persist  all  the 
more  because  Alison  had  gently  remonstrated  with  her. 


148  AUNT   DIANA. 

Alison's  vague  uneasiness  that  led  to  her  speaking  was  changed 
into  positive  alarm  when  Roger  came  into  her  room  that  night.  He 
was  in  evening  dress,  having  just  returned  from  an  early  party. 
Alison  was  waiting  up  for  him.  She  had  put  off  her  dress,  changing 
it  for  a  dainty  pink  dressing-gown.  Her  little  black  Bible  lay  in  her 
lap.     She  looked  up  brightly  at  him  as  he  entered. 

'Ailie,'  he  said,  sitting  down  by  her,  'I  am  so  bothered  about 
something  I  have  heard  to-night.  Did  you  know ' — looking  at  her 
gravely — '  that  Mabel  was  going  down  to  Durbans  with  Miss  Hard- 
wick  and  Captain  Harper  to-morrow  ? ' 

*  Why,  no  ! '  she  said,  starting  a  little.  '  What  place  did  you  say, 
dear?' 

'  Durbans.  It  is  about  twenty  miles  from  here.  There  are  woods 
there  where  people  go  for  picnics.  I  meant  to  have  taken  you  and 
Mabel  one  day,  only  we  should  have  gone  by  train.  Miss  Anna  was 
at  the  Merediths',  and  she  told  me  all  about  it  quite  innocently.  It 
seems  that  Captain  Harper  has  sent  for  his  dog-cart,  and  he  means 
to  drive  them  over.  They  are  to  have  dinner  and  tea  at  the  Castle 
Inn  ;  so  they  mean  to  be  away  the  whole  day.' 

,  *  Oh,  Roger!  what  shall  we  do?'  exclaimed  Alison.  '  If  papa 
were  only  here,  I  would  go  to  him  at  once.  Mabel  has  no  right  to 
deceive  him  in  this  way,  and  I  should  certainly  get  him  to  put  a  slop 
to  it  at  once  ;  but  now  he  will  not  be  home  until  to-morrow.' 

'  He  may  possibly  come  by  an  earlier  train  ;  he  told  me  so  as  we 
walked  to  the  station.  It  will  all  depend  how  long  business  will  de- 
tain him.  Of  course  we  should  tell  him,  Ailie  ;  the  thing  is  beyond 
a  joke.  Fancy  that  fellow  having  the  audacity  to  propose  such  a 
thing  !  I  saw  him  driving  the  other  day,  and  I  did  not  like  the  look 
of  the  horse,  it  seemed  such  a  hard-mouthed  brute.  Supposing  he 
brings  them  to  grief.  I  wish  I  knew  what  I  could  do  about  it,  Ailie ; 
but  father's  absence  obliges  me  to  be  in  the  office.  I  must  be  in  the 
yard  early,  too.     I  shall  not  even  be  able  to  speak  to  Missie.' 

'  I  will  tell  her  what  you  say,  and  then,  of  course,  she  will  be 
obliged  to  give  it  up,'  returned  Alison,  not  relishing  her  task  at  all, 
but  counting,  nevertheless,  on  an  easy  victory.  Missie  had  put  her- 
self so  completely  in  the  wrong  that  no  choice  but  submission 
was  left  to  her.  Roger,  who  knew  Missie  perfectly,  was  not  so 
sanguine. 

'  Tell  her  that  if  she  goes  I  shall  certainly  inform  father,  and  then 
he  will  put  a  stop  to  her  visits  to  Maplewood ;  and  tell  her,  too,  that 


'you    may   leave   MABEL   TO   ME.'  149 

I  am  perfectly  disgusted  at  her  conduct.  Miss  Leigh  is  no  good,  or 
she  is  the  person  to  speak.     I  am  afraid  you  must  do  it,  AiHe.' 

'  Very  well,'  she  sighed.  But  she  lay  awake  a  long  time  revolving 
what  words  she  would  use.  She  was  determined  to  be  severe  and 
speak  her  mind  very  freely  ;  there  should  be  no  beating  about  the 
bush  in  this  instance.  Missie  should  know  what  she  and  Roger 
thought  of  such  deceitful  conduct.  Missie  considered  herself  safe. 
Her  father  rarely  questioned  his  children  about  their  doings  during 
the  day.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  they  had  been  usefully  and 
well  employed.  As  for  Captain  Harper,  he  had  forgotten  his  exis- 
tence ;  he  had  forbidden  his  visits  to  The  Holms,  and  it  never  struck 
him  that  Missie  might  be  meeting  him  at  Maplewood,  and  no  one 
had  yet  opened  his  eyes. 

Alison  awoke  with  a  strange  oppression  upon  her — a  sense  of 
difficulty,  that  made  the  daylight  seem  less  bright.  She  became 
nervously  conscious  that  she  might  fail.  What  it  her  severity  were 
of  no  avail,  and  Missie  should  persist  in  going?  She  was  a  little 
later  than  usual  in  going  down.  Roger  had  already  had  his  break- 
fast and  had  gone  to  the  mill,  and  the  meal  was  half  over  before 
she  suggested  that  Poppie  should  knock  at  Mabel's  door. 

*  Oh,  I  forgot,'  returned  Poppie,  in  a  stricken  voice,  laying  down 
her  slice  of  bread  and  jam;  'Missie  came  into  my  room  before  I  was 
dressed,  and  told  me  to  tell  you  she  would  not  want  any  breakfast — 
she  was  going  to  have  it  at  Maplewood.  She  looked  so  smart, 
Alison,  in  her  new  blue  dress.  It  was  rather  funny  of  her  to  put  it 
on  for  breakfast.' 

'  Miss  Leigh,  will  you  come  into  the  schoolroom  a  moment,  if  you 
have  finished?'  said  Alison,  quietly  ;  but  the  governess  noticed  that 
she  looked  rather  pale,  and  rose  at  once,  but  she  was  even  more 
shocked  than  Alison  when  she  heard  the  whole  story. 

*  My  dear,  your  papa  will  never  forgive  us  if  we  do  not  prevent  it,' 
she  said,  very  solemnly.  '  You  none  of  you  know  how  particular  he 
is  ;  and  this  will  seem  dreadful  to  him.  You  must  go  to  Maplewood 
yourself,  Alison,  and  speak  to  Mrs.  Hardwick.  She  is  the  only  one 
who  can  do  anything.  Anna  can  go  in  Mabel's  place,  but  you  must 
insist  on  bringing  Mabel  home.  I  will  not  answer  for  the  conse- 
quences if  this  affair  comes  to  your  father's  ears,'  continued  the 
governess,  moved  to  tears  at  this  fresh  instance*of  Missie's  self-will. 

Alison  thought  this  such  good  advice  that  she  put  on  her  hat  at 
once  and  walked  over  to  Maplewood.     It  was  not  a  pleasant  errand, 


150  AUNT   DIANA. 

she  felt,  and  she  hardly  knew  what  she  would  say  to  Mrs.  Hardwick. 
She  only  knew  she  would  refuse  to  return  without  Missie,  even  if 
she  had  to  brave  the  obnoxious  Captain  Harper  himself.  But  her 
face  fell  when  she  entered  the  morning-room  and  found  Mrs.  Hardwick 
and  Anna  alone  ;  the  others  had  just  driven  from  the  door. 

'You  have  only  just  missed  them,  Alison,'  observed  Anna,  looking 
anxiously  into  her  face.  She  thought  she  had  never  seen  her  friend 
look  so  grave  and  perturbed. 

'  It  was  very  wrong.  Mabel  ought  not  to  have  gone  without  papa's 
permission,'  burst  indignantly  from  Alison's  lips.  '  Papa  is  so  par- 
ticular, he  never  likes  us  to  go  out  without  Miss  Leigh  or  Roger,  and 
Roger  is  very  much  annoyed  with  Mabel.' 

'  Oh,  my  dear,  what  nonsense  ! '  observed  Mrs.  Hardwick,  tran- 
quilly. '  I  always  say  Mr.  Roger  is  such  an  old-fashioned  young 
man.  Anthony  is  just  like  my  own  son  ;  he  is  as  steady  as  steady. 
I  always  let  my  girls  go  about  with  him.' 

'  Yes,  but  Mabel  is  different,  Mrs.  Hardwick,'  returned  Alison, 
with  dignity.  'Captain  Harper  is  a  stranger  to  us,  and  papa  will  not 
think  it  right.     Mabel  is  so  young.' 

'So  she  is,  my  dear,  quite  a  baby;  so  what  does  it  matter?'  re- 
turned Mrs.  Hardwick,  comfortably.  '  They  wanted  Anna  to  go, 
but  I  could  not  spare  her.  What !  are  you  going  already,  and  you 
have  not  rested  from  your  walk,  and  you  are  looking  quite  heated, 
too  ?  Young  people  ought  to  take  more  care  of  their  complexion. 
But  then  you  never  freckle,  as  Eva  does.  Well,  good-bye,  my  dear ; 
don't  trouble  your  head  about  the  girls,  Anthony  will  take  care  of 
them.' 

Alison  felt  as  though  any  reply  were  impossible.  Mrs.  Hardwick 
was  one  of  those  feather-headed  women  whose  brains  seem  to  need 
ballast.  She  received  impressions  vaguely.  Anna,  who  was  more 
sensitive,  was  keenly  alive  to  the  change  that  passed  over  Alison's 
face  as  she  left  the  room,  and  she  followed  her  into  the  hall. 

'  Oh,  Alison,'  she  began  timidly,  '  I  can  see  how  vexed  you  are 
about  this,  and  it  is  very  wrong  of  Mabel  to  treat  you  all  so ;  but 
you  must  not  be  angry  with  mamma ;  she  does  not  see  things  very 
quickly,  and  Eva  told  her  it  was  all  right.' 

'  I  am  afraid  I  do  feel  angry  with  every  one,'  replied  Alison,  and  a 
big  tear  rolled  down  her  face.  '  I  know  trouble  will  come  of  this. 
Papa  is  not  easily  roused,  but  I  know  what  he  will  feel.  I  cannot 
share  Mabel's  deceit :  I  must  and  will  tell  hmi.' 


'YOU    MAY   LEAVE   MABEL   TO   ME.'  151 

'You  must  do  what  you  think  right,  and  Mr.  Roger  will  help  you,' 
returned  Anna,  in  her  soft,  sympathising  voice.  '  Perhaps  Mr. 
Merle  will  forgive  Mabel,  he  is  so  very  fond  of  her.  I  am  sure  I 
hope  he  will ;  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  so  worried.' 

Alison  shook  her  head  sadly  ;  she  could  not  comfort  herself  with 
any  such  hope  ;  her  father's  anger,  she  knew,  would  be  in  proportion 
to  his  love.  Missie's  disobedience  and  deceit  would  touch  him  very 
closely. 

Slie  gave  quite  a  frightened  start  when,  on  her  return  to  The 
Holms,  Roger  met  her  at  the  gate  with  the  news  that  Mr.  Merle  had 
returned. 

'I  have  not  seen  him  yet,  Ailie;  I  have  only  just  come  across  from 
the  mill,'  he  continued.  '  Would  you  like  me  to  tell  him,  dear,  or 
do  you  think  you  can  do  it  better?  ' 

'  We  will  go  together,'  returned  Alison,  uneasily.  '  I  am  so  afraid 
that  he  will  put  himself  out,  and  then  you  will  know  what  to  say.' 
And  Roger  acquiesced. 

They  found  Mr.  Merle  in  his  study,  looking  somewhat  fagged  and 
weary,  but  he  held  out  his  hand  with  a  smile,  as  though  he  were 
pleased  to  see  them  after  his  brief  absence. 

'  Where  is  Pussie?'  he  asked;  'she  is  generally  the  first  to  welcome 
me.'     And  he  looked  round  as  though  he  were  disappointed. 

'  Dear  papa,'  returned  Alison,  bravely,  '  I  am  afraid  you  will  be 
vexed  about  something.  We  have  none  of  us  seen  Mabel  this  morn- 
ing ;  she  breakfasted  at  Maplewood.  Roger  met  Anna  at  the 
Merediths*  last  night,  and  she  told  him  that  Mabel  had  promised  to 
join  Eva  and  her  cousin  in  an  excursion  to  Durbans.  I  went  over 
to  speak  to  Mrs.  Hardvvick  and  bring  Mabel  back,  but  they  had 
already  started.' 

'  What ! '  thundered  Mr.  Merle,  and  the  blackness  of  his  brow  was 
dreadful  to  Alison,  'do  you  dare  to  tell  me  that  Mabel  has  gone  over 
to  Durbans  in  that  man's  company,  when  I  forbade  any  intercourse 
with  him  ?  * 

'  Captain  Harper  is  driving  them  in  his  dog-cart,'  rejoined  Roger, 
coming  to  his  sister's  relief.  '  It  seems  a  very  silly  affair,  and  I  told 
Alison  so  last  night,  and  begged  her  to  stop  it ;  it  is  no  fault  of  hers 
or  of  mine,  father.  Missie  slipped  out  of  the  house  while  they  were 
at  breakfast,  and  though  Alison  started  off  to  Maplewood  as  soon  as 
she  could,  she  was  just  too  late.' 

*  No,  it  is  not  your  fault,'  returned  Mr.   Merle,  gloomily.     '  Mabel 


152  AUNT   DIANA. 

must  bear  the  brunt  of  her  own  disobedience.  Miss  Hardwick  shall 
never  enter  this  house  again.' 

'  Would  you  Hke  me  to  take  an  early  afternoon  train  to  Durbans?' 
interrupted  Roger,  who  had  already  conceived  this  plan,  '  and  then 
I  could  join  them ;  there  is  a  vacant  seat  in  the  dog-cart.' 

Alison  looked  eagerly  at  her  father  ;  she  thought  this  an  excellent 
idea  on  Roger's  part  Miss  Hardwick  and  Captain  Harper  must  be 
made  aware  of  Mr.  Merle's  displeasure  ;  and  though  Roger's  presence 
would  be  a  severe  punishment  to  Missie's  pride,  placing  her  in  the 
light  of  a  naughty  runaway  child,  she  richly  deserved  the  humiliation; 
but  unhappily,  as  it  afterwards  turned  out,  Mr.  Merle  did  not  share 
his  son's  moderate  opinion. 

'  Look  out  a  train  in  the  time-table,'  he  said,  suddenly  ;  *  I  will  go 
myself,  Roger.  Mabel  shall  not  return  in  the  dog-cart;  I  shall  bring 
her  back  by  train.  I  know  how  to  deal  with  a  disobedient  child, 
and  there  is  no  good  in  your  mixing  up  yourself  in  this  unpleasant 
affair;  you  may  leave  Mabel  to  me.'  And  Mr.  Merle  looked  so 
stern  and  resolute  that  neither  Alison  nor  Roger  dared  to  dissuade 
him,  though  Roger  looked  anxious  and  uneasy  as  he  went  in  search 
of  the  railway  guide. 


CHAPTER  XVIir. 
•don't  be  frightened,  ailie.* 

LisoN  passed  an  anxious  and  solitary  afternoon,  and  as  she 
sat  alone  at  her  needle-work,  she  could  not  divest  her  mind 
of  all  sorts  of  gloomy  anticipations.  She  knew  her  father  to  be 
a  man  of  strong  passions  ;  she  dreaded  the  effects  of  his  dis- 
pleasure on  Mabel.  His  severity  would  be  tempered  with 
justice  ;  but  still  the  weight  of  his  anger  would  be  crushing.  Alison's 
tender  heart  was  full  of  compunction  and  pity  for  poor  Missie.  She 
was  deprived  of  the  solace  of  Roger's  company,  for  he  had  gone  back 
to  the  yard  before  Mr.  Merle  had  left  the  house,  and  later  on  he 
had  some  business  in  the  town.  It  would  have  been  a  relief  to  talk 
to  Miss  Leigh,  but  the  worry  had  brought  on  one  of  the  governess's 
nervous  headaches,  and  she  was  lying  down  in  her  room,  Rudel 
was  spending  the  afternoon  at  a  schoolfellow's  house,  and  Poppie's 
society  was  about  as  comforting  as  a  kitten's,  so  Alison  sent  her 
out  with  one  of  the  maids,  and  tried  to  interest  herself  in  her  work. 
It  was  a  lovely  afternoon ;  the  soft  September  sunshine  lay  on  the 
lawn,  and  on  the  beds  of  scarlet  geraniums  and  dark  red  verbenas. 
All  the  doors  and  windows  were  open,  a  faint  sweet  smell  of  clematis 
stole  into  the  room,  mingled  with  the  scent  of  late-blooming  roses. 
In  spite  of  her  heavy  thoughts,  the  coolness  and  silence,  and  the 
busy  twittering  of  the  sparrows  in  the  ivy,  brought  a  sense  of 
refreshment  to  Alison.  A  verse  she  had  read  that  morning  came 
into  her  mind — 

i 
Let  us  gather  up  the  sunbeams 

Lying  all   around  our  path  ; 
Let  us  keep  the   wheat  and  roses, 

Casting  out  the  thorns  and  chaff; 
Let  us  find  our  sweetest  comforts 
.    In   the  blessings  of  to-day, 
•  With  a  patient   hand  removing 
All   the  briars  from  the  way.' 

.  »S3 


154  AUNT  DIANA. 

'  The  briars  are  in  poor  Mabel's  way,'  she  thought ;  '  but  perhaps 
I  may  help  her  to  put  them  aside.  There  is  always  something  for 
one  to  do  or  bear,  as  Aunt  Di  once  said ;  the  daily  sacrifice  is  still 
for  us,  if  not,  perhai)s,  a  whole  burnt  sacrifice,  yet  there  is  still  the 
need  of  a  peace-offering,  so  many  little  offices  to  do  for  others ; 
even  pulling  up  a  briar  or  two  out  of  their  way  may  do  something 
to  lighten  their  daily  journey.'  Alison  was  cheering  herself  up 
bravely,  and  when  the  tea-things  were  brought  in  she  carried  Miss 
Leigh  a  cup,  and  sat  down  by  her  bedside  and  talked  to  her  a 
little. 

'What  a  comfort  you  are  to  us  all,  Alison,  my  dear!'  said  the 
governess,  gratefully,  as  the  girl  turned  her  pillow,  and  bathed  her 
throbbing  head,  and  lowered  the  blind,  that  the  evening  sunshine 
should  not  obtrude  too  strongly.  '  No  one  has  ever  waited  on  me 
so  nicely  ;  really,  my  head  is  rather  better,  and  I  think  I  shall  be 
able  to  sleep  a  little  until  your  father  and  Mabel  come  in.' 

'  They  cannot  be  long  now,'  returned  Alison ;  '  but  you  must  not 
trouble  yourself  about  anything  more  to-night.  I  will  come  in  again 
by-and-by,  and  see  if  you  have  rested.'  And  then  she  softly  closed 
the  door.  It  was  impossible  to  go  back  to  her  needlework,  so  she 
took  her  book  and  seated  herself  under  the  lime  trees  within  view 
of  the  gate.  Poppie  had  come  home  from  her  walk,  and  was 
playing  about  the  lawn  with  Otter  and  Sulky.  The  jackdaw's  solemn 
gait,  as  he  walked  down  the  garden  path,  amused  Alison,  and  she 
laid  down  her  book  to  watch  him.  Now  and  then  Poppie  claimed 
her  attention,  or  Otter  flew  to  her  side  to  hide  his  ball  in  her 
gown.  She  soon  grew  so  interested  in  their  play  that  the  time 
passed  unheeded,  and  she  woke  up  with  a  start  to  the  conviction  that 
it  was  nearly  eight,  and  the  early  autumn  twilight  was  creeping  over 
the  garden. 

So  late,  and  they  had  not  arrived  ;  and  what  could  have  become 
of  Roger.'*  She  called  to  Poppie  hurriedly  to  put  Sulky  in  the  yard, 
and  run  into  the  house,  as  it  was  bed-time,  and  her  supper  was 
waiting  in  the  schoolroom  ;  and  the  little  girl  had  hardly  left  her 
before  the  latch  of  the  gate  was  raised,  and  in  another  moment 
Roger  came  rapidly  towards  her. 

He  looked  heated,  as  though  he  had  been  walking  fast ;  but  it 
was  a  white  heat,  and  it  struck  Alison  suddenly  that  he  was  ill,  or 
that  he  had  heard  something. 

'  Don't  be  frightened,  Ailie,'  he  said,  in  a  quick,  nervous  voice, 


•don't  be  frightened,  ailie.'  155 

that  certainly  did  not  reassure  her,  neither  did  the  touch  of  his 
cold  damp  hand.  '  I  have  come  first  to  prepare  you ;  be  as  brave 
as  you  can,  for  your  help  is  wanted.' 

'  Something  dreadful  has  happened  !     Oh,  Roger,  be  quick  ! ' 

'  I  have  no  time  to  tell  you  much,'  he  returned,  still  more 
hurriedly.  *  They  came  back  by  train — oh,  why  did  he  not  send 
me? — there  was  an  accident,  I  was  down  at  the  station  and  saw 
them  come  in.  They  are  both  hurt ;  at  least,  I  am  afraid  Missie 
is,  only  she  will  not  say  so,  but  father  is  the  worst.' 

*  Oh,  Roger!'  and  Alison's  figure  swayed  for  a  moment  on  his 
arm  until  he  made  her  sit  down,  for  the  sudden  shock  had  turned 
her  lips  white.     She  could  not  say  more  at  that  moment. 

'  We  do  not  know  yet,'  he  half  whispered  ;  '  there  are  two  doctors 
with  him,  and  they  are  bringing  him  home.  He  had  a  blow,  and 
was  insensible,  but  they  cannot  tell  yet ;  there  is  no  wound.  There, 
I  hear  them  coming,  Ailie;  pull  yourself  together;  we  must  not 
think  of  anything  but  him.' 

'  No,  no,'  and  she  gave  a  quick  gulp,  and  the  colour  came 
back  to  her  lips.  The  sparrows  were  twittering  sleepily  in  the  ivy. 
•And  one  of  them  shall  not  fall  on  the  ground  without  your 
Father,'  seemed  to  come  into  her  mind,  like  the  sudden  flash  of 
a  sunbeam  out  of  a  passing  cloud.  He  was  in  the  Divine  hands  ; 
she  must  remember  that.  As  Roger  went  down  to  open  the  gates 
she  compelled  herself  to  return  to  the  house. 

'Sarah,  there  has  been  an  accident,'  she  heard  herself  say,  only 
her  voice  did  not  seem  to  belong  to  her.  *  bend  Eliza  to  the 
schoolroom,  to  keep  Miss  Poppie  out  of  the  way,  and  you  and 
Nanny  be  in  readiness  for  what  is  wanted.  Hot  water,  I  suppose 
they  will  want  that,  and  I  don't  know  what  besides.'  And  here 
her  voice  suddenly  failed,  for  wheels  were  evidently  coming  up 
the  gravelled  sweep.  The  next  few  minutes  were  simply  horrible 
to  Alison.  The  two  doctors  and  Roger,  and  some  man  from  the 
railway,  were  all  helping  in  removing  her  father's  inanimate  figure 
from  the  vehicle.  Alison  recognised  the  family  practitioner.  Dr. 
Greenwood,  but  the  other  was  a  stranger.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  ;  her  father's  room  was  in  readiness,  and  Roger  was  there  to 
show  them  the  way.  She  could  only  lean  against  the  wall  as  they 
passed  with  a  fleeting  consciousness  that  her  father's  eyes  were  still 
closed,  and  that  there  was  something  terrible  in  the  inert  heavy 
droop  of  the  limbs.     '  Very  gently,'  she  heard  Dr.  Greenwood  say. 


156  AUNT  DIANA. 

'Yes,  I  know  the  room;  that  is  the  door,  Cameron.'     And  then 
it  closed  after  them,  and  she  felt  some  one  grip  her  arm. 

'  Help  me  upstairs,  Alison,'  said  Missie,  hoarsely.  She  had  crept 
out  of  the  fly  unaided,  and  now  stood  by  Alison's  side  in  the  dark 
hall.  Alison  had  almost  forgotten  her  in  that  moment's  agony; 
but  then  Roger  had  said  surely  she  was  not  much  hurt,  yet  there 
she  was  clinging  to  her  sister  with  a  white  stony  face. 

'  Lean  on  me,  dear ! '  exclaimed  Alison,  passing  her  arm  tenderly 
round  her  ;  but  to  her  alarm  Missie  uttered  a  sharp  cry  of  pain. 

■  'No,  don't  touch  me,  not  that  side;  I  will  hold  your  arm,  I 
want  to  be  in  my  own  room  if  I  can  only  get  there.'  And  leaning 
heavily  on  Alison's  shoulder,  she  toiled  slowly  up  the  staircase,  her 
faintness  and  difficulty  evidendy  increasing  at  every  step,  but  her 
strong  will  supporting  her  until  they  reached  the  threshold,  and  then 
she  suddenly  tottered,  and  if  Alison  had  not  caught  her  in  her 
arms,  she  would  have  fallen.  Alison  dared  not  call  loudly  for 
assistance,  for  they  were  close  to  her  father's  room  ;  but  she  was 
young  and  strong,  and  she  just  managed  to  drag  Missie  to  a 
chair,  and  summon  one  of  the  frightened  servants,  when  Missie 
revived.  Alison  mixed  a  little  sal  volatile  and  water  and  gave 
it  to  her.     Missie  tasted  it,  and  put  it  down,  shuddering. 

'  It  was  the  pain ;  you  touched  it,  and  I  am  so  bruised  all  over,' 
she  said,  with  a  sort  of  sob.  '  I  did  not  want  them  to  know ;  they 
had  to  look  after  papa ;  but  I  am  afraid  my  arm  is  broken.' 

*0h,  Mabel,  my  poor  dear!'  And  Alison  knelt  down  by  her. 
She  had  not  noticed  how  helplessly  the  left  arm  hung  down,  and  now 
Missie  would  not  let  her  touch  it. 

*It  is  all  bruised  and  cut,'  she  said,  her  forehead  contracting 
heavily  with  pain.  '  The  doctor  must  see  it  presently,  when  he  has 
finished  in  the  other  room ;  not  now.  Oh,  Alison,  where  are  you 
going?  You  shall  not  disturb  them.  What  does  it  matter?  If 
only '     But  here  her  fast  whitening  lips  refused  to  utter  her  fear. 

'  Let  me  go,  darling,'  returned  Alison,  anxiously  ;  '  I  will  not  dis- 
turb them,  you  may  quite  trust  me.'  And  without  waiting  for  Mabel's 
answer  she  slipped  away. 

As  she  entered  the  dressing-room,  the  stranger,  a  dark,  grave- 
looking  young  man,  came  out  of  her  father's  room.  He  listened  to 
Alison's  account,  and  promised  to  attend  to  her  sister  as  soon  as 
possible. 

'  We  must  finish  the  examination,'  he  said,  dismissing  her,  '  but  I 


'DON'T   BE   FRIGHTENED,   AILIE.'  1 57 

will  come  as  soon  as  I  can.  I  thought  there  was  something  wrong, 
but  she  deceived  us  by  hiding  her  arm  under  her  mantle.  She  was 
bruised,  that  was  all,  she  told  us.  Keep  her  quiet,  and  I  will  be 
with  you  directly.' 

Missie  was  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  with  her  eyes  closed,  but  as 
Alison  entered  she  opened  them  full  on  her  sister,  and  the  blank 
miserable  look  in  them  convinced  Alison  that  she  was  dreading  the 
worst. 

*  Do  not  look  so,  Mabel  darling,'  she  said,  kissing  her  softly. 
*  Indeed  we  do  not  know  ;  they  have  told  me  nothing.  Dear  papa 
is  in  God's  hands ;  we  must  leave  him  there,  and  hope  for  the  best.' 

A  low  groan  broke  from  Mabel's  lips. 

'  Oh,  it  is  easy  for  you ;  even  if  the  worst  comes,  you  can  bear  it ; 
you  have  nothing  with  which  to  reproach  yourself.  If  he  dies,  I 
shall  have  killed  him.  How  am  I  to  go  on  living,  and  know  that  ?  ' 
And  here  she  burst  out  into  hoarse  sobs. 

'  Mabel,  my  poor  dear,  oh  !  how  am  I  to  comfort  you  ? '  exclaimed 
Alison,  unable  to  restrain  her  own  tears  at  the  sight  of  her  sister's 
anguish. 

'  You  cannot  comfort  me,'  returned  the  unhappy  girl.  *  What  is 
the  pain  of  my  broken  arm  and  my  bruises  compared  to  what  I  shall 
feel  if  he  dies,  and  I  am  not  able  even  to  tell  him  that  I  am  sorry  for 
my  deceit  and  disobedience?  and  I  would  not  say  so,  because  he 
was  angry.  Oh,  papa,  papa,  and  I  loved  you  so  I '  And  the  poor 
child  hid  her  face  on  Alison's  shoulder.  It  seemed  a  relief  to  her  to 
pour  out  her  feelings.  He  had  been  so  angry,  and  she  would  not 
own  herself  in  the  wrong,  and  then  the  horrible  accident  had 
happened,  and  she  thought  at  first  her  father  was  killed.  '  When 
they  said  he  was  ahve,  and  they  must  bring  him  home,  and  see  what 
could  be  done,  I  thought  I  would  not  add  to  the  trouble,  and  so  I 
managed  to  hide  my  broken  arm.'  But  here  she  broke  off,  as  Mr. 
Cameron  entered  the  room. 

'  Papa  ? '  she  said,  faintly,  as  he  came  up  to  her. 

'  His  consciousness  is  returning ;  we  shall  know  more  to-morrow. 
It  is  not  the  head,  as  we  feared,'  he  said,  evasively ;  '  but  now  I  must 
look  at  your  arm,  please.  Your  friend  Dr.  Greenwood  will  be  here 
directly,  and  we  will  soon  put  it  right.'  But,  in  spite  of  his  cheerful 
words,  '  Poor  child  !'  came  pityingly  from  his  lips  as  the  blackened 
shoulder  was  revealed  to  his  view.  Missie  must  have  suffered  ex- 
quisite pain  during  the  drive  home.     The  arm  was  broken,  and  the 


IS8  AUNT   DIANA. 

shoulder  dislocated,  and  the  bruised   condition  of  the  limb  filled 
Alison  with  horror. 

It  was  a  painful  ordeal  for  Alison,  but  she  bore  it  as  bravely  as  she 
could.  Roger  had  remained  with  his  father  ;  Miss  Leigh  was  not  in 
a  condition  to  render  any  assistance  ;  the  sudden  confusion  had 
brought  on  accession  of  pain,  and  she  could  only  lay  her  throbbing 
head  back  on  the  pillow,  and  lie  there  in  utter  helplessness.  There 
was  no  one  but  herself  to  wait  upon  the  doctors  and  receive  their 
directions :  the  very  exigency  of  the  case  made  her  helpful.  Her 
one  thought  was  that  she  must  not  hinder  their  work  ;  there  was 
Uttle  for  her  to  do.  At  the  first  touch  of  her  wounded  arm  Mabel 
had  fainted  again.  Alison  could  not  have  borne  to  witness  the  poor 
child's  sufferings.  Perhaps  Dr.  Greenwood  knew  this,  for  he  con- 
trived some  errand  that  detained  her  for  a  few  minutes  out  of  the 
room.  When  she  returned  the  worst  seemed  over,  but  the  faintness 
continued,  and  it  was  only  slowly  and  by  degrees  that  Alison,  with 
Sarah's  help,  could  assist  her  to  undress  and  lie  down,  after  which  a 
sedative  was  to  be  administered,  as  the  pain  of  the  bruises  and  the 
misery  of  her  mind  would  effectually  hinder  sleep. 

As  soon  as  she  could  leave  her  in  Sarah's  charge,  Alison  stole 
into  her  father's  dressing-room.  Dr.  Greenwood  came  to  her  at 
once. 

'  My  dear,'  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  for  he  had  known  her  from 
an  infant,  'this  is  a  sad  business,  but,  thank  God  !  things  are  not  so 
bad  as  they  seemed  at  first.  Your  father  must  have  received  a  blow ; 
he  was  stunned,  but  consciousness  has  returned,  and  he  has  spoken. 
What  we  fear  now  is  something  different.  He  seems  unable  to 
move  ;  but  this  may  be  due  to  the  shock  and  temporary  exhaustion. 
There  are  symptoms  that  make  us  hopeful  that  the  full  extent  of 
mischief  may  not  be  realizied.  We  shall  know  more  in  a  few  days  ; 
but  he  will  require  the  greatest  care  To-morrow  I  shall  send  in  a 
nurse  from  the  infirmary.  Do  you  think  you  and  your  brother  can 
manage  to-night  ? ' 

•  Oh,  yes,'  returned  Alison,  with  a  painful  catch  of  her  breath  ;  it 
seemed  to  her  as  though  she  were  passing  through  some  hideous 
nightmare  ;  the  very  horror  seemed  to  numb  her  sensibilities.  She 
understood  that  night  how  people  could  live  through  terrible  scenes ; 
the  very  intensity  of  pain  deadened  the  anguish. 

Dr.  Greenwood  thought  her  a  very  brave  girl.  She  listened  quietly 
to  his  directions,  but  he  took  her  hand  once,  and  felt  her  pulse,  and 


*  don't  be  frightened,  ailie.'  159 

then  he  kindly  bade  her  take  some  food  and  wine  before  she  went 
into  her  father's  room,  and  as  Roger  came  out  that  moment  he 
repeated  the  charge  to  him. 

*  Come,  Ailie,'  said  Roger,  taking  her  arm.  '  Dr.  Greenwood  will 
stay  with  father  until  we  come  back.'     And  he  led  her  away. 

Alison  noticed  with  some  surprise  that  there  was  a  sort  of  meal 
laid  in  the  dining-room ;  she  had  forgotten  the  early  supper  had  been 
placed  there  a  couple  of  hours  ago  in  preparation  for  her  father. 
Roger  carved  some  chicken  and  brouglit  it  to  her. 

'  You  must  try  and  eat,  Ailie,  and  I  will  do  the  same,'  he  said, 
with  some  attempt  at  cheerfulness.  '  We  have  a  long  night  before 
us,  and  we  must  husband  our  strength.' 

Alison  felt  the  force  of  this  argument;  nevertheless  the  food 
remained  on  her  plate. 

'  Roger,  how  bad  you  look ! '  she  said,  suddenly ;  *  but  I  do  not 
wonder  at  it.  Oh  !  what  a  dreadful  evening  we  have  had ;  and  I 
cannot  imagine  how  it  happened.' 

'  Dr.  Cameron  was  there,  and  he  told  me,'  returned  Roger,  shading 
his  face  from  the  light,  as  though  it  hurt  him.  '  It  was  not  a  collision  ; 
something  must  have  given  way — the  coupling  chain,  they  think — and 
they  were  going  down  a  steep  incline  at  express  speed.  Dr.  Cameron 
says  some  of  the  carriages  went  over  the  embankment,  and  were 
completely  wrecked ;  one  or  two  were  turned  entirely  over.  He  was 
in  the  same  compartment  with  father  and  Mabel.  They  felt  a  jolting 
sensation,  and  the  next  moment  they  were  thrown  from  their  seats, 
the  carriage  side  was  completely  smashed,  and  they  were  all  flung  in 
a  heap.  Dr.  Cameron  was  on  the  top,  and  was  happily  unhurt,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  bruises  ;  father  was  underneath  him  ;  Mabel 
struggled  up  somehow  unaided,  and  came  to  father,  and  no  one 
knew  she  was  much  hurt.' 

'  Oh,  Roger,  how  terrible  ! ' 

*  Yes,  it  does  not  do  to  talk  of  it,  and  hardly  to  think  of  it  Now, 
Ailie,  if  you  have  finished  we  will  go  upstairs.  By  the  bye,  where  is 
Miss  Leigh  ?' 

*  Oh,  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  her,'  exclaimed  Alison.  *  How 
dreadful  for  her  to  lie  there,  and  not  be  able  to  help  us !  She  has 
been  suffering  from  one  of  her  sick  headaches,  and,  of  course,  all 
this  will  make  it  worse.  Wait  for  me  a  moment,  dear,  I  will  just 
speak  to  her.' 

'  Is  that  you,  Alison  ? '  asked  the  governess,  feebly,  as  the  girl  came 


l6o  AUNT  DIANA. 

to  her  bedside.  *  I  know  all  about  it,  dear,  Eliza  has  told  me.  Poor 
children,  poor  children  !  and  I  cannot  help  you.' 

*  Roger  is  good  and  thoughtful ;  we  shall  manage  nicely  to-night, 
and  Sarah  will  watch  Mabel.  You  must  not  trouble,  dear  Miss 
Leigh ;  to-morrow  you  will  be  better,  and  then  we  shall  be  sure  of 
your  help.' 

'  You  must  not  stay  now.  Thank  you  for  coming,  my  dear ;  but 
you  must  go  to  your  father.'  And  Alison  was  thankful  to  be  dis- 
missed. 

In  another  moment  she  was  leaning  over  her  father.  He  unclosed 
his  eyes  as  he  heard  her  light  footstep,  and  a  faint  smile  came  to  his 
lips. 

'  How  is  your  sister  ? '  he  whispered. 

'  Dear  papa,'  she  returned,  tenderly,  *  how  happy  Mabel  will  be  to 
know  you  asked  after  her !  She  is  lying  quite  quietly,  the  sedative  is 
lulling  her,  but  she  is  not  asleep.' 

'  Poor  child  ! '  was  all  his  reply,  and  then  he  closed  his  eyes  again ; 
but  as  Alison  withdrew  into  the  shadow  of  the  curtain  tears  of  thank- 
fulness came  to  her  eyes;  there  was  no  bitterness  in  her  father's 
heart  against  poor  Mabel.  '  As  a  father  pitieth  his  children,'  the 
words  came  to  her  mind,  ah  !  'so  might  their  Heavenly  Father  have 
pity  on  them.' 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

*I   WOULD   NOT   SAY   I   WAS   SORRY.' 

HE  dreary  night-watching  was  a  new  experience  in  Alison's  life, 

for  she  had  been  too  young  at  the  time  of  her  mother's  last 

illness  to  share  in  the  long  and  tedious  nursing ;  the  silence 

and  inaction  made  the  hours  drag  heavily.     Roger,  fatigued 

with  his  day's  work,  was  sleeping  heavily  with  his  head  against 

the  wall.    Alison  pitied  his  weary  position,  and  fetched  a  pillow  from 

the  other  room  and  put  it  gently  behind  his  head.     *  You  may  sleep', 

she  whispered,  as  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her,  half  ashamed 

of  his  drowsiness ;  *  there  is  no  need  for  two  of  us  to  watch.     I  will 

wake  you  if  I  see  any  need.'     And  then  she  went  back  to  her  seat. 

Once  or  twice  she  went  across  the  passage  to  look  at  Missie.  She 
was  glad  to  find  her  sleeping.  Sarah  was  at  her  post,  sitting  bolt 
upright  and  nodding.  Now  and  then  her  father  spoke  a  few  words; 
once  he  asked  what  the  doctors  had  said. 

Alison  was  thankful  that  they  had  not  informed  him  of  their  fears. 

*  They  do  not  seem  to  know,  papa,'  she  returned  gently ;  '  they 
think  you  have  had  a  great  shock,  and  you  are  suffering  from  ner- 
vous exhaustion.     They  will  tell  better  by-and-by.' 

•There  seems  something  wrong  with  my  limbs,'  he  muttered 
uneasily;  'you  are  sure  you  do  not  know  what  they  think?' 

'Quite  sure,  dear  papa,'  she  replied,  so  earnestly  that  he  could 
not  disbelieve  her;  'but  I  hope  and  trust,'  her  lips  quivering  a 
little,  *  that  you  may  soon  be  better.' 

He  moved  his  head  restlessly  on  the  pillow,  as  though  her  emotion 
disturbed  him. 

'  I  have  not  been  a  good  father  to  you,  Alison,'  he  returned,  a 
little  bitterly.     '  I  do  not  think  my  children  need  regret  me.' 

'  Oh,  papa,  papa,  please  do  not  speak  so ! '  she  implored,  and  the 
tears  came  now ;  '  your  children  love  you,  and  would  do  anything  to 
help  you.' 

I6l  j^ 


l62  AUNT  DIANA. 

'You  are  a  good  girl,  Alison;  your  mother  always  said  so,  and  if 

I  am  spared '    He  sighed  heavily,  and  turned  his  face  away  j  and 

Alison,  remembering  the  doctor's  injunction,  dared  not  say  any  more, 
lest  it  should  increase  his  agitation ;  she  only  took  his  hand  and 
softly  laid  her  cheek  against  it,  as  though  she  would  show  by  this 
action  a  child's  love  and  devotion.  Her  touch  seemed  to  quiet  him, 
and  by-and-by  he  dozed  a  little. 

Morning  came  at  last,  and  Roger  roused  himself  with  difficulty. 

'  I  shall  take  my  bath,  and  dress,  and  have  some  coffee,  and  then 
I  must  go  to  the  mill,'  he  whispered.  'You  must  stop  at  your  post, 
I  suppose,  until  the  nurse  comes.'  And  Alison  nodded  as  she 
moved  to  the  window  and  put  aside  the  heavy  curtains.  How  cool 
and  fresh  the  garden  looked !  The  dew  glittered  on  the  turf ;  a 
family  of  blackbirds  were  breakfasting  on  the  lawn,  and  a  little  brown 
wren  was  twittering  in  the  ivy.  It  was  all  so  still  and  calm ;  in 
another  hour  the  crane  would  be  working,  and  there  would  be  the 
whirr  of  machinery,  but  at  present  the  birds  had  it  all  their  own 
way. 

Alison  felt  weak  and  jaded  ;  the  strain  was  beginning  to  tell  even 
on  her  vigorous  vitality.  She  was  glad  the  night's  inaction  was  over, 
but  she  felt  too  weary  for  the  day's  work.  But  Roger  had  not  for- 
gotten her ;  he  came  back  presently  with  a  refreshed  look  on  his 
face,  and  told  her  that  breakfast  was  all  ready  in  the  dressing-room. 

'A  strong  cup  of  coffee  ha?  made  me  a  different  man,'  he  said 
cheerfully ;  '  you  must  try  my  recipe,  Ailie.'  And  Alison  found  the 
benefit  of  his  prescription. 

Her  hands  were  soon  full  of  business.  Dr.  Greenwood  came 
early,  bringing  the  new  nurse  with  him,  and  Alison  had  to  make  ar- 
rangements for  the  stranger's  comfort.  She  seemed  a  pleasant,  cap- 
able woman,  with  a  neat  figure,  and  a  bright  face  that  prepossessed 
Alison  in  her  favour.  She  took  possession  at  once  of  her  patient, 
after  a  feeble  protest  on  his  part  that  he  objected  to  nurses,  but  after 
the  first  few  minutes  he  ceased  to  grumble.  Dr.  Greenwood  soon 
convinced  him  that  Roger  was  too  busy,  and  Alison  too  young  for 
such  a  responsibility ;  besides,  the  chief  care  of  her  sister  must 
devolve  on  her. 

Missie's  sleep  had  not  refreshed  her  as  they  hoped ;  the  pain  of 
her  bruises  was  making  her  feverish.  She  could  not  turn  in  her  bed 
without  suffering,  and  her  anxiety  for  her  father  added  to  her  dis- 
comfort.    Alison  tried  to  console  her,  and  Miss  Leigh,  who  was 


*I   WOULD   NOT  SAY  I  WAS  SORRY.'  163 

sufficiently  recovered  to  sit  in  her  room,  spoke  reassuring  words  to 
her;  but  it  was  evident  that  Missie  could  take  no  comfort ;  only 
when  Alison  was  alone  with  her,  miserable  self-accusing  words  came 
to  her  lips. 

'  Indeed,  dearest,  there  is  no  need  for  you  to  speak  so,'  Alison 
said  to  her  once,  with  a  strong  yearning  to  console  her.  '  Dear  papa 
asked  after  you  the  first  moment  he  saw  me.  You  should  have 
heard  how  tenderly  he  said  "  Poor  child  !'" 

'  That  is  because  my  arm  is  broken,  and  he  knows  I  am  suffering 
such  pain.  If  any  one  hated  me  they  would  pity  me  now,'  returned 
Missie,  in  a  stifled  voice. 

'  No,  no ;  you  must  not  take  it  in  that  way,'  exclaimed  Alison, 
quite  shocked,  as  she  smoothed  Missie's  fair  hair.  She  looked  so 
pale  and  pretty,  and  the  blue  eyes  had  such  a  pathetic  look  in  them. 
Alison  had  parted  the  soft  fringe,  and  the  short  curly  ends  lay  quite 
smooth  and  showed  the  broad  white  forehead.  A  different  Mabel 
lay  there,  with  the  poor  wounded  arm  folded  on  her  breast,  and  all 
the  little  vanities  laid  aside.  As  Alison  stood  looking  at  her,  Missie 
raised  her  uninjured  arm  with  a  sudden  movement  toward  Alison, 
and  in  another  moment  the  sisters  were  clasping  each  other  close. 

*  Oh,  my  poor  dear,  my  poor  dear ! '  whispered  Alison,  in  the  soft- 
est, most  pitying  voice.  Missie  kissed  her  hastily,  and  then  seemed 
as  though  she  would  push  her  away,  only  Alison  held  her  still. 

'  No,  I  don't  deserve  it ;  please  don't  be  so  good  to  me.  I  have 
been  altogether  horrid  ever  since  you  came  home.' 

'  Never  mind  all  that  now,  dear.' 

'  Yes,  but  I  must  mind  it,'  turning  restlessly  away  and  then  utter- 
ing a  low  groan.  *  Oh,  this  pain,  Alison  !  Shall  I  ever  be  able  to 
move  again  without  it  ?  I  did  not  want  you  to  come  home ;  I 
thought  you  would  be  in  my  way,  and  that  made  me  cross.  I  was 
jealous  of  you,  and  I  did  not  want  the  others  to  care  for  you.  Roger 
.was  never  fond  of  me  as  he  was  of  you,  and  I  wanted  him  to  be  fond 
of  me.  And  oh  !  how  horrid  and  small  it  all  seems  now  ! '  finished 
poor  Missie,  reading  her  past  conduct  under  a  new  light.  In  the 
dark  hours  when  one's  strength  is  low,  conscience  sometimes  flings  a 
vivid  torch  into  the  recesses  of  one's  being,  bringing  hidden  faults 
to  light. 

'  Dear  Mabel,  we  will  forget  all  that  now,'  returned  Alison 
gently ;  '  we  will  try  and  love  each  other  more.' 

*  Oh,  it  is  easy  for  you  to  love  people,'  retorted  Missie,  almost 


1 64  AUNT  DIANA. 

pettishly ;  '  every  one  is  so  fond  of  you,  and  you  are  never  cross  and 
disagreeable  as  I  am.  Roger  makes  you  his  companion,  and  Rudel 
is  less  rough  when  you  are  in  the  room,  and  now  papa  will  love  you 
best.' 

*  Hush,  dear ;  what  nonsense  ! ' 

'  It  is  not  nonsense,'  she  returned,  in  a  despairing  tone.  '  I  have 
forfeited  his  love.  He  will  never  forgive  me  now.  He  told  me  that 
he  hated  deceit ;  that  he  should  never  be  able  to  think  the  same  of 
me.  He  said  I  should  never  see  Eva  again  if  he  could  help  it.  Oh, 
he  was  so  angry,  so  unlike  himself !  I  suppose  my  obstinacy  vexed 
him,  for  I  would  not  say  I  was  sorry.  He  took  hold  of  my  arm  and 
almost  shook  me  to  make  me  speak,  but  I  think  I  was  like  that  man 
who  had  a  dumb  spirit.' 

Dr.  Greenwood  had  given  Alison  strict  injunctions  that  she  was  to 
keep  her  sister  as  quiet  as  possible,  but  it  seemed  impossible  to  check 
the  storm  of  excited  talk.  Mabel's  only  relief  was  to  accuse  herself, 
and  put  all  her  conduct  in  its  blackest  light.  A  weight  of  intoler- 
able misery  lay  on  her  mind ;  she  felt  her  own  pains  were  richly 
deserved,  but  the  thought  that  she  had  risked  her  father's  life  by  her 
disobedience  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  Every  hour  she  ques- 
tioned Alison  about  his  state.  Would  he  recover?  Was  he  in  any 
danger  ?  What  did  the  doctor  fear  ?  Alison  at  last  called  Roger  to 
her  aid. 

'  What  shall  we  do  ? '  she  exclaimed,  half  crying.  *  Missie  will 
not  get  any  sleep  to-night ;  she  is  working  herself  into  a  fever,  and 
Dr.  Greenwood  does  not  wish  us  to  give  her  an  opiate.  It  breaks 
my  heart  to  hear  her  going  on  about  papa.  I  thmk  if  she  could 
only  see  him  she  would  be  more  contented.' 

'  Shall  I  go  to  her  ? '  he  asked,  hesitating  a  little,  for  Missie  had 
expressed  no  wish  to  see  him. 

'  Oh,  yes,  perhaps  that  will  be  best,'  she  said,  brightening  a  little. 
*  I  am  so  tired  and  harassed  that  I  probably  do  not  say  the  right 
thing.' 

*  I  will  come  presently ;  but,  Ailie,  I  am  so  sorry  you  are  so  tired. 
Miss  Hardwick  is  downstairs,  and  she  says  she  must  see  you ;  she 
seems  very  much  upset.  Do  you  think  you  could  speak  to  her  for 
a  moment  7 ' 

Alison  made  a  gesture  of  repugnance.  It  was  plain  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  see  Miss  Hardwick,  but  Roger  was  bent  on  carrying 
his  point. 


•I  WOULD   NOT  SAY  I  WAS   SORRY.'  16$ 

•  I  have  to  go  to  my  father  now,'  he  said  quietly,  *  but  in  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  I  shall  be  ready  to  see  Missie.  I  will  wait  for 
you  here.  Miss  Hardwick  will  not  detain  you  many  minutes ;  go, 
dear  AiUe.*    And  Alison  reluctantly  obeyed  him. 

Eva  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  long  drawing-room,  and  came  up 
to  Alison  quickly,  holding  out  both  her  hands. 

'  Oh,  Alison,'  she  said,  and  the  tears  were  running  down  her  face 
unchecked,  *  I  know  you  do  not  want  to  see  me,  but  I  begged  so 
hard  of  Mr.  Roger  to  send  you.  Of  course,  you  hate  the  sight  of 
me.  You  think  1  am  the  cause  of  this ;  but,  indeed,  indeed,  I  never 
knew  Mr.  Merle  would  be  so  angry ! ' 

'  You  tempted  Mabel  to  deceive  and  disobey  her  father,'  returned 
Alison  severely,  for  her  heart  was  hard  against  the  girl.  '  You  knew 
that  he  disapproved  of  Captain  Harper,  and  then  you  encouraged 
and  planned  this  scheme.  How  could  any  father  fail  to  be  angry 
when  his  commands  are  so  entirely  set  aside?' 

•  You  must  not  speak  against  Anthony,  AUson,'  returned  Eva,  in  a 
subdued  voice.  *  I  am  engaged  to  him  ;  he  is  only  my  half-cousin. 
Mabel  knew  this,  and  she  thought  it  would  not  matter  coming  with 
us.  Mamma  would  have  told  you,  only  I  did  not  wish  it  to  be  made 
public.  All  this  has  quite  spoiled  my  happiness.  Poor,  dear  Mabel ! 
if  I  could  only  see  her,  and  help  you  to  nurse  her.  But  Mr.  Roger 
says  it  is  quite  impossible.'     And  she  wiped  away  some  fresh  tears. 

There  was  so  much  feeling  in  Eva's  words  and  manner  that 
Alison's  coldness  relaxed  a  little. 

'You  must  not  see  her,'  she  said  gravely;  'I  believe  papa  has 
forbidden  that  for  the  present,  but  I  can  give  her  your  love,  and  tell 
her  that  you  asked  after  her.' 

'Tell  her  I  shall  come  every  evening  to  inquire ;  tell  her,  too,  that 
I  shall  not  have  a  moment's  peace,  thinking  that  1  am  partly  to 
blame  for  this.  It  was  wrong  of  us,  Alison;  I  see  that  now.  I 
deserve  to  have  something  to  bear  as  well  as  she,  poor  darling ! 
You  and  Mr.  Roger  must  not  be  too  hard  on  me,  for,  indeed,  I  am 
as  unhappy  as  possible ;  Anna  will  tell  you  so.' 

'  I  will  try  to  forgive  you,'  returned  Alison,  with  a  warm  kiss,  that 
evidently  surprised  and  gratified  her.  'It  does  not  make  things 
better  to  be  hard  and  bitter  against  people.  We  need  not  add  to 
our  own  unhappiness  in  that  way.  Now  I  must  go,  please.  Give 
my  dear  love  to  Anna ;  I  know  she  will  be  fretting  about  us.'  And 
with  a  quick  nod  Alison  ran  upstairs. 


l66  AUNT   DIANA. 

'Well?'  observed  Roger  interrogatively,  as  she  came  to  his  side. 

*  I  am  glad  you  told  me  to  go  down,'  was  her  reply;  *  there  is  good 
in  every  one,  and  Eva  certainly  appeared  to  advantage  this  evening. 
She  is  really  fond  of  Missie,  and  she  cried  so  about  it  all.  She  is 
not  a  bad-hearted  girl.' 

*  No ;  and  all  this  will  do  her  a  great  deal  of  good.  "  Evil  is 
wrought  by  want  of  thought,  as  well  as  want  of  heart,"  Ailie.  Now 
let  us  go  to  poor  Missie.' 

Missie  flushed  up  very  much  when  she  saw  Roger,  but  the  next 
moment  her  face  grew  wan  and  pale. 

'  Well,'  he  said  cheerfully,  taking  her  hot  little  hand,  '  this  is  a  sad 
affair ;  but  at  least  we  may  be  thankful  it  is  not  worse.  I  almost 
think  father  looks  a  little  better  to-night ;  Mrs.  Meyrick  thought  so, 
too.  There  was  certainly  a  slight  concussion  of  the  brain  last  night, 
but  this  evening  he  seems  more  like  himself.' 

'Oh,  Roger!'  and  Missie's  eyes  were  filling  in  a  moment,  'do  ycu 
really  think  so?'     But  the  last  word  became  a  sob. 

'  Yes,  dear,  and  Nurse  Meyrick  said  the  same ;  he  spoke  more 
clear  and  articulately.  Now,'  kissing  her  forehead,  'you  will  be 
easy  about  him,  and  will  try  to  sleep  ? ' 

*  There  is  no  sleep  in  my  eyes,'  she  returned,  with  a  little  of  her 
old  excitement.  '  Oh,  Roger,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  bruised 
and  battered  all  over,  and  not  to  be  able  to  turn  without  pain.  If 
it  were  not  for  that  I  would  go  to  him.' 

'  Perhaps  you  will  be  able  to  go  to-morrow,'  he  returned,  humour- 
ing her,  for  her  flushed  face  and  excited  look  made  him  anxious. 
'You  will  try  to  lie  patiently  until  the  morning,  Mabel  dear,  will  you 
not?  Alison  is  so  worn  out,  she  must  sleep  to-night,  and,  indeed, 
we  are  all  over-tired  and  harassed.' 

'  Yes,  and  I  am  the  cause,'  she  returned  restlessly.  '  Oh,  Roger, 
I  will  not  ask  you  to  forgive  me ;  Alison  has,  but  then  she  is  different. 
But  you,  of  course,  you  can  never  care  for  me  again  ! ' 

'  Indeed,  you  are  wrong,  my  dear  little  sister,'  he  said  soothingly ; 
*  I  do  care  for  you  very  much,  all  the  more  that  you  are  so  unhappy. 
When  you  get  well  again,  you  shall  see  how  proud  I  shall  be  of  my 
two  sisters,  and  what  nice  times  we  shall  have.' 

'  Oh,  no,'  she  returned,  bursting  into  tears,  '  I  never  expect  any  one 
to  be  fond  of  me  again.  I  have  made  your  life  miserable,  Roger  ; 
I  have  tormented  you  just  for  love  of  teasing.  If  I  were  not  so 
wicked  I  should  like  to  die,  and  then  perhaps  you  would  be  sorry 


•I  WOULD  NOT  SAY  I  WAS  SORRY.'  167 

for  me.  If  anything  happens  to  papa,  I  could  not  live.  Oh,  if  I 
could  only  see  him,  and  ask  him  to  forgive  me  ! ' 

'My  dear,  he  has  forgiven  you  over  and  over  again,'  returned 
Roger,  in  rather  a  husky  voice,  for  he  found  all  this  very  trying ; 
'  that  is  the  best  of  it.  One  need  never  be  afraid  of  losing  a  father's 
love ;  it  is  not  to  be  lost,  Mabel ;  the  thing  is  against  nature.  If  I 
sinned  against  father  ever  so,  I  know  he  must  forgive  me,  just 
because  I  am  his  son.' 

'  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father," '  murmured  Alison,  half  to 
herself,  but  Missie  heard  it. 

'  Yes,  read  that  to  me ;  I  have  been  repeating  fragments  of  the 
verses  all  day;  that  is,  if  you  are  not  too  tired,  Alison,'  with  renewed 
thoiightfulness. 

*  Roger  will  read  it,'  returned  Alison,  feeling  the  task  would  be 
good  for  her  brother,  and  distrusting  her  own  voice;  and  though 
Roger  looked  a  httle  shy  over  it,  he  did  not  refuse. 

Missie  lay  with  closed  eyes  and  Hstened,  and  the  harassed  expres- 
sion passed  from  her  face. 

'  Thank  you ;  that  was  beautiful,'  she  said,  when  he  had  finished. 
*  How  nicely  you  read,  Roger !  Now  I  will  try  to  be  good  and  not 
wake  Alison.  Perhaps,  when  the  light  is  shaded,  I  may  drop  oif  to 
sleep.' 

Alison  was  in  sore  need  of  rest  by  this  time ;  her  head  ached  as 
well  as  her  limbs ;  but  she  had  one  more  duty  to  perform  before  she 
laid  down  in  the  little  bed  that  had  been  prepared  for  her  in  Missie's 
room,  and  that  was  to  bid  her  father  good-night. 

He  welcomed  her  with  a  smile.  '  I  feel  easier  to-night,'  he  said, 
and  his  voice  was  stronger.  '  My  good  nurse  has  made  me  very  com- 
fortable, and  I  dare  say  we  shall  both  be  able  to  sleep  a  little.  How 
is  Pussie  ? '  the  old  name  escaping  from  him  unawares. 

'  I  do  not  think  she  is  any  worse,'  she  replied  cautiously  ;  *  but  she 
still  suffers  a  great  deal,  and  she  is  making  herself  so  unhappy 
about  you.' 

'  Tell  her  not  to  do  that,'  he  replied,  with  a  little  effort ;  '  she  need 
not  take  the  blame  of  the  accident  on  herself;  she  has  enough  to 
bear  without  that.' 

'May  I  give  her  your  love,  papa?' 

'Oh,  yes,'  he  said,  as  though  surprised  by  the  question,  for  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  child's  misery.  '  Tell  her  I  hope  she  will  have 
a  good  night.'     And  then,  as  he  seemed  weary,  she  left  him. 


l68  AUNT  DIANA. 

Missie  received  the  message  in  silence,  and,  as  the  light  was  dim, 
Alison  could  not  see  her  face.  She  fancied  that  just  as  she  was 
dropping  off  to  sleep  there  was  a  sound  as  though  some  one  was 
crying ;  but  her  senses  were  too  drowsy  to  take  in  the  fact  that  it 
might  be  Missie  sobbing  in  the  darkness.  Her  last  recollected 
thought  was  about  Aunt  Diana.  Roger  had  promised  to  write  a  few 
lines  from  the  office,  and  she  had  wondered  if  he  had  done  it. 

*  How  shocked  Aunt  Di  will  be,'  she  thought,  '  and  how  sorry  foP 
us  all ! '  The  half-finished  sentence  was  completed  in  her  dream,  for 
she  dreamt  that  Greville  was  rowing  them  both  among  the  water- 
lilies,  and  Aunt  Di  was  gathering  roses  and  throwing  them  into 
her  lap. 

'  Do  not  cry,  child,  it  will  all  come  right  in  time,'  Alison  heard 
her  say ;  '  there  is  a  silver  lining  behind  every  cloud,  you  may  be 
sure  of  that.'  And  then  she  woke  with  a  start  Something,  she 
did  not  know  what,  had  disturbed  her;  she  sat  up  and  looked  round 
in  bewilderment.  The  moon  was  shining  full  into  the  room,  and 
Missie's  bed  was  empty. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

missie's  repentance. 

"uRSE  Meyrick  had  a  strange  dream  that  night. 

She  was  sleeping  on  a  couch  in  the  dressing-room.  It  had 
been  placed  so  near  the  door  of  communication  that  she  had 
a  full  view  of  her  patient.  He  had  just  sunk  into  a  tranquil 
doze,  and  she  had  followed  his  example,  when  a  faint  sound, 
like  an  opening  door,  roused  her,  and  a  moment  after  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  white-robed  figure  with  long,  fair  hair  gliding  between 
her  and  the  bed. 

For  a  brief  instant  she  thought  she  was  only  dreaming,  and  that 
the  white  shadowy  form -must  be  an  angel ;  but  as  she  collected  her 
drowsy  faculties,  she  was  sure  she  heard  a  sobbing  sigh  that  certainly 
proceeded  from  a  human  being.  And  the  next  moment  she  sprang 
from  the  couch. 

A  young  girl  in  a  loose  white  dressing-gown  was  standing  by  Mr. 
Merle's  bed.  Nurse  Meyrick's  quick  eyes  discerned  that  one  arm 
was  bandaged  and  in  splints.  It  must  be  the  young  lady,  she 
thought,  who  had  been  injured  in  the  accident ;  perhaps  she  was 
light-headed.     The  next  minute  she  touched  her  softly. 

'  Come,  my  dear,  come,'  she  said  coaxingly  ;  '  you  ought  not  to 

be  out  of  your  bed  at  this  time  of  night ;  let  me  help  you  back, 

there's  a  dear  young  lady,'  for  Missie's  wide  feverish  eyes  alarmed  her. 

*  No,  no,'  returned  Missie,  recoiling  from  the  nurse's  gentle  touch. 

*  I  could  not  stay  in  bed,  I  could  not  sleep  until  I  had  seen  papa. 
Let  me  stay  and  look  at  him  ;  I  will  be  good  and  not  wake  him.' 
But  the  nurse  shook  her  head  at  this. 

'  You  must  not  stay,'  she  whispered,  not  daring  to  raise  her  voice ; 

*  your  feet  are  bare,  and  you  look  as  bad  as  possible.  Come,  my 
dear,  let  me  carry  you  back  to  your  room ;  it  will  scare  your  father 
to  see  you  standing  there.' 

'  No,  no,'  returned  Missie,  shrinking  still  more ;  *  I  must  stay  with 


I/O  AUNT  DIANA. 

papa.  Why  does  he  look  so  pale,  and  lie  so  still  ?  Is  he  dead  ?  No 
one  told  me  he  was  dead.  Papa!'  she  cried  out,  for  she  was  be- 
wildered by  the  dim  light  and  her  own  feverish  fancies.  *  Speak  to 
me  only  one  word,  just  to  tell  me  you  are  alive.' 

'  Oh,  hush ! '  exclaimed  the  nurse ;  but  she  was  too  late.  Mr. 
Merle  woke  up ;  but  in  his  weak  condition  his  daughter's  presence 
did  not  seem  to  startle  him. 

*  My  dear,'  he  said  feebly ;  *  they  ought  not  to  have  allowed  this. 
You  will  make  yourself  ill  leaving  your  warm  bed.' 

*  But  I  could  not  sleep,'  she  sobbed  ;  '  I  could  not  rest.  I  thought 
they  were  hiding  things  from  me.  If  you  had  died,  and  I  had  never 
told  you  I  was  sorry,  I  should  have  died  too.  Oh,  papa,  it  must 
have  killed  me  !' 

He  smiled  faintly,  and  gathered  the  hot  little  hand  in  his. 

*  You  were  sorry  all  the  time,  my  pet,  were  you  not  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  and  I  am  sorry  now,'  creeping  still  closer.  '  I  could  not  ask 
God  to  forgive  me  until  you  had  forgiven  me.  Oh,  papa  !  why  do 
you  look  so  kindly  at  me,  when  you  know  it  is  all  through  my  wicked- 
ness that  you  are  lying  here  ?  Of  course,  no  one  can  love  me  any 
more.'  ■• 

'  Not  love  you,  Pussie  !  Come,  come,  my  child,  fathers  are  not 
like  that.  I  forgive  you  freely  ;  everything  is  right  between  us.  But, 
my  poor  darling,  you  are  ill  and  suffering,  and  if  you  care  to  please 
me,  let  nurse  carry  you  back  to  bed.' 

*  Will  you  let  me  kiss  you  first  ?  ' 

His  only  answer  was  to  stretch  out  his  arms  to  her ;  but  he  won- 
dered to  see  how  slowly  she  came  to  him.  How  could  he  guess  each 
movement  was  agony  to  the  poor  child  ?  How  she  had  ever  man- 
aged to  crawl  from  her  bed  and  across  the  passage,  only  she  herself 
knew. 

*  I  have  only  one  arm  to  put  round  your  neck,'  she  whispered,  as 
her  long  hair  fell  over  his  face.  '  Dear,  dear  papa,  if  I  could  only 
bear  it  all  ! '  And  as  he  felt  her  tears  upon  his  cheek,  he  under- 
stood how  her  young  heart  was  wrung  with  remorse  and  sorrow,  and 
holding  her  a  moment  tried  to  comfort  her,  and  besought  God  to 
bless  his  pet. 

Alison  was  just  sitting  up  in  affright,  looking  round  the  empty 
room,  when  Nurse  Meyrick  appeared,  carrying  Missie  in  her  arms. 

'  Oh,  Mabel,  where  have  you  been  ?  You  have  frightened  me 
so!' 


missie's  repentance.  171 

*Go  to  sleep,  AUson,'  returned  Missie,  in  a  happy  voice.  *  I  have 
only  been  to  see  papa,  and  he  has  forgiven  me,  and  now  I  can 
rest.' 

'  She  will  be  quiet  now,'  whispered  the  nurse.  '  I  have  covered 
her  up  warm,  and  she  will  rest  until  morning.'  And  she  was  right. 
Though  Missie  lay  awake,  feverish  and  full  of  pain,  she  gave  no  more 
trouble,  and  poor  Alison  was  allowed  to  sleep  undisturbed  until 
morning. 

For  the  next  few  days  Missie  was  very  ill.  Her  agitation  of  mind 
brought  on  a  slight  feverish  attack,  and  when  this  had  yielded  to  the 
doctor's  remedies  her  weakness  was  excessive.  Her  nerves  had 
been  jarred  and  unstrung  by  the  accident ;  and  the  least  noise,  the 
slamming  of  a  door,  or  even  a  louder  voice  than  usual,  made  her 
change  colour  and  burst  into  tears.  It  was  impossible  for  her  in  her 
shattered  state  always  to  repress  irritability.  Again  and  again  the  old 
sharp  tones  and  words  recalled  Missie's  faulty  temper.  But  there  was 
this  improvement — she  struggled  bravely  against  her  besetting  sin, 
and  would  ask  pardon  quite  humbly  of  Alison.  '  I  have  been  so 
cross  to-day,'  she  would  say,  with  tears  in  her  eyes ;  '  I  wish  you 
would  not  be  so  sweet  and  patient  with  me.' 

'  I  will  promise  to  scold  when  you  are  well  enough,'  Alison  would 
say,  in  her  most  cheerful  manner,  for  she  knew  Missie  must  not  be 
encouraged  to  be  morbid.  *  Just  now,  darling,  I  can  only  remember 
you  are  ill,  and  that  your  poor  arm  is  giving  you  trouble.  I  know  I 
should  be  cross  if  I  had  as  much  to  bear.'  But  in  spite  of  Alison's 
assumed  cheerfulness,  she  was  growing  pale  and  thin.  Her  close  con- 
finement in  Missie's  room  tried  her  ;  no  one  but  Alison  suited  the  sick 
girl's  fancy — no  one  else  seemed  to  understand  her  little  ways.  Miss 
Leigh's  gentle  mournfulness  irritated  her ;  she  had  never  cared  much 
for  Anna,  and  she  had  lost  all  desire  for  Eva's  companionship,  and 
though  her  father  had  generously  withdrawn  his  prohibition,  Eva 
had  only  once  been  admitted  to  her  room.  The  interview  had  been 
a  little  embarrassing.  Eva  had  cried  and  begged  Missie  to  forgive 
her,  and  Missie  had  been  kind  and  magnanimous  in  her  answer  ;  but 
after  the  first  few  agitating  minutes  their  talk  had  drifted  into  silence; 
Missie  was  languid  and  out  of  spirits,  and  Eva  did  not  possess  the  art 
of  soothing — the  bond  of  sympathy  between  them  seemed  broken. 
Both  of  them  had  yet  to  learn  that  similarity  of  tastes  and  the  bois- 
terous spirits  of  youth  do  not  lay  the  foundation  of  a  lasting  friend- 
ship ;  while  Alison  and  Anna  seemed  to  cement  their  intimacy  more 


172  AUNT  DIANA. 

every  day,  as  the  good  qualities  of  each  became  more  apparent,  there 
were  symptoms  that  Missie  and  Eva  would  drift  still  farther  apart. 

Missie  had  plenty  of  good  sense,  and  she  no  longer  stifled  it ;  her 
conscience  told  her  that  she  would  never  have  sinned  so  grievously 
against  her  father  if  Eva  had  not  undermined  her  principles  by  her 
flattery  and  playful  words  of  advice  to  be  independent  and  assert 
herself. 

A  veil  had  fallen  from  her  eyes ;  she  no  longer  saw  Eva's  conduct 
in  the  same  light,  and  as  she  grew  better,  and  Eva  sought  opportun- 
ities to  be  with  her,  the  disillusion  became  more  complete.  Missie 
found  herself  wondering  over  her  own  infatuation.  Had  Eva  always 
been  so  loud  in  her  manners,  so  unfilial  in  her  behaviour  to  her 
mother,  so  unkind  to  Anna  ?  Missie  grew  first  critical  and  then  re- 
proachful. Strange  to  say,  Eva  accepted  her  rebukes  quite  meekly 
— evidently  her  affection  for  Missie  was  sincere  in  its  way,  for  she 
took  some  pains  to  please  her,  and  even  tried  to  break  herself  of  her 
faults.  But  for  her  unlucky  engagement  with  Captain  Harper,  there 
was  every  probability  that  Missie  might  have  influenced  her  for 
good ;  but  her  approaching  marriage  soon  drove  all  salutary  reflec- 
tion away. 

As  Missie's  violent  infatuation  for  her  friend  cooled,  she  turned 
more  and  more  to  Alison  for  sympathy  ;  and  here  at  least  she  did 
not  find  herself  disappointed — Alison  returned  her  affection  warmly. 

Missie  was  a  little  exacting  as  an  invalid,  for  she  was  still  sep- 
arated from  her  father,  and,  alas  !  there  was  still  cause  to  be  anxious 
for  him. 

Dr.  Greenwood  never  told  Alison  what  he  had  feared  ;  but  after 
a  few  days,  when  he  and  another  doctor  had  consulted  together  over 
the  case,  he  informed  her  and  Roger  that  there  was  certainly  some 
degree  of  mischief  in  connection  with  the  spine  :  it  would  be  many 
months— perhaps  a  year  or  two— before  he  could  rise  from  his 
couch. 

'  We  certainly  hope  for  his  complete  recovery  in  the  future,'  he 
continued  reassuringly,  as  Alison  turned  pale  and  Roger  looked 
unhappy.  '  Another  inch  and  he  would  never  have  moved  his  limbs 
again;  but  now  things  are  not  so  bad.  Mr.  Merle  will  have  his 
books,  and  they  will  go  far  to  console  him  in  his  forced  inaction.' 

Dr.  Greenwood  was  right  in  his  conjecture  ;  Mr.  Merle  took  the 
tidings  very  quietly. 

'  I  told  you  your  broad  shoulders  were  made  for  something,'  he 


missie's  repentance.  173 

said,  looking  at  his  son  with  a  smile.  He  and  Alison  had  come  to 
bid  him  good-night. 

The  nurse  had  not  yet  been  dismissed,  though  it  was  already  ar- 
ranged that  Roger  should  soon  take  her  place  in  his  father's  dressing- 
room. 

*  I  shall  have  to  leave  the  mill  in  your  hands.  Greenwood  gives 
me  no  hopes  of  being  fit  for  business  for  the  next  year  or  two.' 

'  I  will  do  everything  I  can,  father,'  returned  Roger  sorrowfully ; 

*  but  I  feel  awfully  cut  up  about  it  all.' 

'  There  is  no  need  for  that,  my  boy,'  returned  Mr.  Merle.  *  I 
should  not  wonder  if  you  do  better  at  business  than  I,  Roger, 
Perhaps  this  will  be  less  a  trial  to  me  than  you  suppose.  I  do  not 
deny,  of  course,  that  it  is  a  trial ;  but  still,  with  my  books  and 
children  I  shall  try  to  be  content.' 

*  We  shall  do  everything  in  our  power  to  ease  your  mind,'  returned 
Roger  gravely.  But  he  said  no  more,  and  shortly  afterwards  left 
the  room,  leaving  his  father  and  Alison  together. 

'  Roger  feels  this  dreadfully,'  she  said,  anxious  that  her  father 
should  not  misunderstand  his  son's  lack  of  words. 

'  Yes,  my  dear,  I  know  he  does,'  returned  Mr.  Merle,  with  a  sigh. 

*  I  am  fortunate  to  have  such  a  son.  To  think,'  he  added,  with 
emotion,  '  that  I  could  ever  have  been  so  blind  as  to  believe  that 
villain's  innuendoes  against  him — and  now  the  whole  business  is  in 
his  hands.' 

*  You  can  trust  him  fully,  papa.' 

'  Yes,  better  than  I  can  trust  myself,  Alison ;  that  boy  is  true  as 
steel,  and  will  not  fail  me.  I  wish  I  had  found  it  out  before.  I 
remember  your  Aunt  Diana  once  saying  to  me  that  "  If  I  studied 
my  children  as  well  as  I  did  my  books,  I  should  be  rewarded  for  my 
pains."  By  the  bye,  Alison,  what  does  your  aunt  say  to  all  this 
unlucky  accident  ? ' 

'  We  have  not  heard  from  her,'  returned  Alison,  in  a  low  voice. 

*  Roger  wrote  the  very  next  day  after  the  accident,  and  I  wrote  the 
next  day  ;  but  we  have  had  no  reply.' 

'  That  is  very  unlike  Diana,'  observed  Mr.  Merle,  in  a  surprised  tone. 

*  Roger  says  that  she  cannot  have  received  our  letters,  papa ;  you 
see,  she  is  in  Switzerland,  and  perhaps  she  has  deviated  from  the 
proposed  route — that  is  just  her  way ;  if  she  takes  a  fancy  to  a  place 
she  will  stay  there  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  she  does  not  get  her 
letters  for  days.     If  we  do  not  hear  from  her  soon,  Roger  thinks  I 


174  AUNT  DIANA. 

had  better  write  to  Mr.  Moore.  It  does  seem  so  strange' — her  eyes 
filling  with  tears — '  that  Aunt  Di  should  not  know  how  unhappy  we 
have  been.' 

'  I  believe  you  are  fretting  after  her,  Alison — you  are  quite  thin 
and  fragile-looking.' 

But  Alison  denied  this  with  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  energy. 
She  was  only  a  little  tired  ;  but  now  Mabel  was  getting  better  she 
would  be  able  to  have  a  walk  sometimes. 

'  But  you  must  not  talk  any  more,  papa,'  she  finished  ;  *  you  are 
looking  rather  exhausted.  Nurse  Meyrick  will  be  here  directly ; 
may  I  read  to  you  a  little  until  she  comes  ? ' 

Mr.  Merle  shook  his  head  sadly. 

'  My  dear,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things  ;  but  you  know  Dr.  Green- 
wood has  forbidden  any  kind  of  study  for  the  next  few  weeks,  and  I 
never  cared  much  for  works  of  fiction,  except  Sir  Walter  Scott.' 

'  I  meant  a  chapter  or  two  out  of  the  Bible  before  you  went  to 
sleep,'  returned  Alison,  blushing  with  timidity. 

A  sudden  shadow  passed  over  Mr.  Merle's  face. 

'  I  did  not  understand  you,  my  dear,'  he  said,  with  a  little  effort. 
*  Well,  child,  do  as  you  like — that  sort  of  reading  cannot  hurt  one.' 

Alison  felt  the  permission  was  accorded  rather  ungraciously,  but 
still  she  dared  not  refuse  to  avail  herself  of  it.  She  brought  the 
Bible — Aunt  Diana's  gift — and  sat  down  quietly  by  her  father's  side. 

The  voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  read  ;  but  she  did  not  know 
how  sweet  it  sounded  in  her  father's  ear.  Once  when  she  looked 
up  she  found  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face,  and  stopped  involuntarily. 

'  Shall  I  leave  off,  papa  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  that  will  do  for  to-night ;  you  may  read  to  me  to-morrow. 
You  are  so  like  your  mother,  Alison  ;  she  was  fond  of  her  Bible,  too. 
You  are  a  good  girl,  and  take  after  her.' 

'  Poor  dear  mamma !  How  hard  it  must  be  for  you,  papa,  to  lie 
there  missing  her  ! ' 

'  Ah  ! '  he  said,  averting  his  face  ;  '  it  is  a  life-long  loss.  I  think  I 
never  knew  any  one  so  good — not  even  Diana  could  compare  with 
her.  Do  you  know  you  reminded  me  so  much  of  her  that  day  when 
you  wanted  me  to  go  to  church.     Child,  your  reproachful  eyes  quite 

haunted  me  !     Ah,  well  !  if  ever  I  get  well '     He  paused  with  a 

sigh. 

'  You  will  come  with  us  then,  papa,'  she  said  softly. 

*  I  hope  so,  Alison ;  but  I  fear  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  I  have 


missie's  repentance.  175 

the  chance.  When  a  man  has  looked  death  in  the  face,  as  I  have, 
who  might  have  been  hurried  into  eternity  without  a  moment's  pre- 
paration, he  thinks  a  little  more  seriously  about  things.  I  hope  I 
am  grateful  for  being  spared — I  think  I  am.  You  shall  come  and 
read  to  me  every  night  if  you  like,  my  dear ;  it  is  a  grand  book,  the 
Bible.' 

Alison's  heart  was  too  full  to  answer  him ;  but  as  Nurse  Meyrick 
came  into  the  room  at  that  moment  she  leaned  over  him  and  kissed 
his  forehead. 

'  Good-night,  dear  papa ;  I  hope  you  will  sleep  well.' 

*  Good-night,'  he  answered  cheerfully,  '  and  give  my  love  to 
Missie.' 

Alison  felt  strangely  happy  as  she  left  her  father's  room  ;  it  seemed 
to  her  as  though  they  were  coming  closer  to  each  other.  There  had 
been  a  look  in  her  father's  eyes  and  a  caressing  tone  in  his  voice 
that  told  her  that  she  was  becoming  very  dear  to  him.  She  said  to 
herself  in  her  young  gladness  that  Providence  had  accepted  her 
sacrifice — her  father's  heart  was  no  longer  closed  to  her,  and  Mabel 
was  beginning  to  love  her.  'Give,  and  it  shall  be  given  to  you,'  was 
abundantly  realized  in  her  case — so  true  it  is  that  love  begets  love, 
that  the  Divine  seed  of  charity  sown  broadcast,  even  over  barren 
hearts,  will  still  yield  some  thirtyfold,  some  sixtyfold,  some  a  hun- 
dredfold. 

Alison's  tranquil  rest  that  night  was  only  a  preparation  for  a  most 
trying  day.  Missie  had  left  her  bed  for  the  couch  that  afternoon. 
When  Alison  had  placed  her  comfortably  she  had  gone  downstairs 
for  a  few  minutes  to  speak  to  Anna,  leaving  Miss  Leigh  in  charge. 
Anna  detained  her  longer  than  usual — she  had  so  much  to  say  on 
the  subject  of  Eva's  approaching  marriage ;  and  while  Alison  was 
still  talking  and  listening  Miss  Leigh  hurried  downstairs  with  a  very 
pale  face. 

'  I  wish  you  would  come,'  she  said,  in  much  agitation  ;  *  Mabel  is 
so  very  hysterical  I  can  do  nothing  with  her.  Perhaps  I  have  been 
incautious,  but  she  questioned  me  so  closely  as  to  what  the  physi- 
cians said  about  her  father  that  I  could  not  avoid  telling  her.' 

'  Oh,  dear,  what  a  pity  !  I  meant  to  have  told  her  myself  when 
she  was  better,'  observed  Alison  somewhat  reproachfully. 

Miss  Leigh's  tact  was  often  at  fault,  and  she  had  chosen  an  un- 
lucky moment  for  breaking  the  news  to  Missie — ^just  when  she  was 
weary  with  the  fatigue  of  dressing. 


176  AUNT  DIANA. 

Alison  found  her  in  a  sad  state — sobbing  bitterly,  with  her  head 
hidden  in  the  pillows — and  for  a  long  time  she  refused  to  allow 
Alison  to  raise  her  into  a  more  comfortable  position.  To  her  relief, 
Roger  entered  the  room  and  asked  immediately,  in  his  downright 
manner,  what  was  the  matter,  and  why  Missie  was  making  herself 
ill 

This  brought  on  a  fresh  burst. 

*  Oh,  Roger  !  what  shall  I  do  ?     Poor  papa  ! ' 

*  It  is  poor  Mabel,  I  think,'  observed  Roger  kindly  ;  and  he 
raised  the  sobbing  little  figure  in  his  arms  and  brought  the  wet  face 
into  view.  *  I  declare,  child,  you  are  a  perfect  Niobe.  Ailie,  what 
are  we  to  do  with  her  ?  ' 

'  He  will  not  get  up  for  months — perhaps  for  years — and  it  is  all 
my  fault ! '  cried  Missie  passionately. 

'  Perhaps  so,  my  dear ;  but  do  you  suppose  all  these  showers  of 
tears  will  do  father  any  good  ?  ' 

'  I  must  cry — I  ought  to  cry  when  lam  so  unhappy,'  returned 
Missie  impatiently,  and  trying  to  free  herself. 

*  No,  my  dear,  no,'  was  Roger's  quiet  answer;  'you  have  given  us 
all  so  much  trouble  that  you  ought  to  spare  us  any  noisy  repentance ; 
the  best  thing  you  can  do  for  us  all  is  to  get  as  well  and  happy  as 
you  can,  and  help  to  nurse  father.' 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

AN   UNEXPECTED   VISITOR. 

'issiE  was  SO  surprised  at  this  view  of  the  case  that  she  left  off 
crying  and  stared  at  Roger.     He  told  Alison  afterwards  that 
those  half  drowned  blue  eyes  made  him  feel  quite  bad — but 
then  Roger  was  such  a  soft-hearted  fellow. 
'  You  do  not  understand,'  she  said  at  last,  very  slowly. 

*  My  dear  little  sister,'  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  '  I  do  understand, 
and  so  does  Alison,  and  we  are  both  agreed  on  this  point.  Repent- 
ance is  apt  to  be  troublesome  if  it  be  carried  beyond  due  bounds — 
and,  in  fact,  it  can  degenerate  into  selfishness-^and  you  are  really 
very  selfish  about  this.' 

'  Oh,  Roger ! '  exclaimed  Alison,  a  little  shocked  at  this  plain 
speaking.  But  Roger  knew  what  he  was  about ;  he  was  determined, 
as  he  said  quaintly,  '  to  seal  up  the  fountain  of  Missie's  tears.' 

'  Is  he  not  unkind?'  returned  poor  Missie  piteously.  '  He  calls 
me  selfish,  just  because  I  am  so  sorry  about  papa.' 

*  We  are  all  sorry,  Mabel,'  returned  her  brother  seriously,  *  though 
we  do  not  go  about  the  house  wetting  the  floors  with  our  tears,  like 
mediaeval  saints.  I  declare  it  makes  one  quite  damp  to  come  near 
you — it  is  really  bad  for  your  health,  my  dear.' 

*  Now  you  are  laughing  at  me,'  she  replied  pettishly. 

*  True  ;  and  that  is  the  unkindest  cut  of  all,  is  it  not  ?  But  I  am 
not  laughing  when  I  talk  about  your  selfishness ;  you  see  you  are  just 
going  against  the  wise  old  proverb,  "Never  cry  over  spilt  milk."  The 
mischief  is  done,  my  dear  ;  but  every  one  in  the  house  has  forgiven 
you  for  being  the  cause  of  it ;  and  now  you  must  forgive  yourself.' 

'  Oh,  I  cannot,'  she  sighed.     '  I  shall  be  miserable  until  papa  is  well.' 

'  There  speaks  selfishness,'  he  returned  quickly.     '  My  dear  Mabel, 

why  think  about  yourself  at  all  ?  why  not  think  how  tired  Alison 

looks,  and  how  you  may  spare  her  ?    I  am  sure  a  cheerful  word  from 

you  would  do  her  no  end  of  good.' 

Missie  seemed  struck  by  his  words.     She  looked  at  her  sister 


178  AUNT  DIANA. 

rather  scrutinisingly.  Certainly  Alison  did  look  pale,  and  there  were 
dark  rings  round  her  eyes.     Roger  saw  his  advantage,  and  went  on. 

'  You  have  no  idea  how  people  in  a  house  act  and  re-act  on  each 
other — a  depressing  person  is  like  a  perpetual  fog.  I  think  I  shall 
coin  that  speech  as  a  proverb.  You  know  I  am  a  bit  of  a  philo- 
sopher— Roger  the  sage — that  sounds  well.' 

Missie's  lips  curved  into  a  smile  ;  a  little  dimple  came  into  view. 

'  Come,  that's  about  the  real  article — a  little  more,  and  we  shall 
have  a  rainbow  effect,'  observed  Roger  in  a  delighted  tone.  '  Now 
we  have  the  whole  thing  in  working  order.  You  have  done  wrong 
and  been  sorry  for  it — good  ! ' — with  an  impressive  pause  ;  '  now  you 
are  going  to  do  better,  and  not  think  about  yourself  at  all,  but 
how  you  are  to  make  us  all  happier.  Good  again  !  Thirdly  and 
lastly,  you  are  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf  and  cultivate  cheerfulness  and 
that  sort  of  thing.' 

*  I  will  try,'  sighed  Missie,  raising  her  face  to  be  kissed,  '  but  it 
will  be  dreadfully  hard.' 

'  Most  things  are  hard,'  was  the  philosophical  reply ;  *  but  we  shall 
never  do  much  good  in  the  world  by  sitting  in  the  dust  and  casting 
ashes  on  ourselves — that  sort  of  thing  doesn't  seem  to  belong  to  the 
present  dispensation.' 

*  No ;  it  is  "  Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead  "  now,'  observed  Alison 
in  a  moved  voice.  '  Now,  Roger,  you  may  leave  Missie  to  me  ;  she 
is  tired  out,  and  I  am  going  to  read  her  to  sleep.' 

'  But  I  am  not  sleepy,'  replied  Missie,  reluctant  to  let  Roger  go  ; 
but  it  showed  her  new  submission  to  Alison  that  she  made  no  further 
protest — only  as  Alison  read,  Missie  lay  quiet,  with  a  softened  look 
in  her  eyes.  Yes,  she  would  try  and  bear  it ;  they  should  not  be 
any  longer  troubled. 

'  Thank  you,  dear,'  she  said  presently,  as  she  noticed  how  Alison's 
voice  flagged ;  '  the  book  is  very  pretty  ;  but  I  want  you  to  leave  off 
now  and  take  a  turn  in  the  garden.  Do  please,  Alison,  it  is  such  a 
lovely  evening,  and  it  will  do  you  so  much  good.  Poppie  can  come 
to  me ;  she  is  a  good  girl  and  does  not  tire  me.' 

'  Are  you  sure,  Mabel  dear,  that  you  can  spare  me  ? '  asked  Alison 
anxiously. 

'  Quite  sure,'  was  Missie's  answer  ;  and  then  Alison  consented  to 
leave  her.  She  was  conscious  that  her  strength  was  failing  her  a 
little  ;  the  close  confinement  and  anxiety  for  the  last  fortnight  were 
trying  to  her  constitution ;  broken  rest  at  night  often  followed  the 


AN   UNEXPECTED  VISITOR.  1 79 

long  day's  work.  She  was  pining,  too,  for  a  word  from  her  dearest 
friend.  She  had  written  two  days  ago  to  Mr.  Moore,  questioning 
him  about  Miss  Carrington's  movements,  but  had  received  no  answer 
from  the  confidential  servant  who  acted  as  the  bhnd  man's  amanu- 
ensis, and,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  be  cheerful,  she  was  feehng  dull 
and  deserted. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening,  as  Missie  said — one  of  those  rare  Sep- 
tember evenings  that  come  when  summer  and  autumn  seem  blend- 
ing into  each  other.  Alison  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  hall,  debating 
whether  she  was  too  tired  to  seek  Roger  in  the  timber-yard,  or 
whether  she  should  indulge  in  solitary  musing  under  the  lime-trees. 
A  free  half-hour  was  a  delicious  boon,  and  she  must  employ  it  to  the 
best  advantage.  She  decided  after  a  moment  that  she  was  too  dull 
for  even  Roger's  company  to  cheer  her — for  she  was  in  one  of  those 
moods  that  the  masculine  mind  finds  so  difficult  to  understand — and 
she  was  just  taking  down  her  garden  hat  from  the  peg,  when  a  figure 
came  between  her  and  the  evening  light,  a  familiar  voice  spoke  her 
name,  and  the  next  moment  Alison  was  in  Aunt  Diana's  arms. 

Miss  Carrington's  kisses  were  very  grave  and  tender.  They  spoke 
volumes ;  but  she  seemed  to  have  no  words  at  the  moment.  But 
Alison's,  '  Oh,  Aunt  Di ! '  was  more  than  eloquent — the  quiver  of  her 
voice  meant  ecstasy.  But  the  next  moment  Miss  Carrington  put  her  at 
arm's-length,  and,  still  holding  her,  scrutinised  her  face  almost  pitifully. 

'  Ailie,  my  poor,  dear  child,  what  have  they  done  to  you  ?  Oh 
dear,  what  thin  cheeks,  what  heavy  eyes  ! '  And  suddenly  closing 
her  face  between  her  hands,  she  kissed  her  again  and  again ;  and 
Miss  Carrington  was  not  a  demonstrative  woman — her  caresses 
meant  something  out  of  the  common.  They  brought  Alison's  soft 
colour  back,  and  the  happy  tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

'Never  mind  about  that,'  she  returned  unsteadily;  *I  shall  be 
quite  well  and  rested  now  I  have  seen  your  dear  face  again.  Oh, 
Aunt  Di,  how  I  have  wanted  you  ! ' — her  voice  sinking  still  lower. 

'Yes,  I  know,' replied  Miss  Carrington,  almost  abruptly — all  the 
more  because  her  feelings  were  not  so  well  under  control  as  usual. 

*  Ailie,  what  must  you  have  thought  of  my  silence  ?  Come,  let  us  sit 
down  somewhere  where  I  can  talk  to  you  without  interruption.  I  don't 
want  to  see  anyother  face  but  yours  for  the  present — not  even  Roger's.' 

'  I  think  my  room  will  be  best,'  returned  Alison,  hesitating  a  little. 

•  Miss  Leigh  is  in  the  drawing-room  and  Rudel  in  the  dining-room, 
and  Roger  generally  sits  in  the  study  when  he  comes  in  of  an  even- 


l80  AUNT  DIANA. 

ing.  Wait  a  moment,  Aunt  Di,  please  ;  I  must  ask  Sarah  to  make 
some  tea  for  you — supper  will  not  be  ready  for  an  hour.  Oh,'  smil- 
ing archly,  '  1  know  your  taste — Aunt  Di  cannot  go  without  her  tea.' 

Miss  Carrington  offered  no  remonstrance  ;  perhaps  she  was  in  need 
of  refreshment.  She  waited  to  see  the  cabman  deposit  her  luggage 
in  the  hall,  and  then  she  followed  Alison  upstairs. 

'  My  dear,'  she  observed,  looking  round  her  as  she  entered,  *  this 
is  not  your  old  room  ;  I  thought  this  was  Missie's  ? ' 

'  Yes,  but  Missie  had  mine,  and  I  did  not  like  to  turn  her  out — it 
would  only  have  caused  unpleasantness.  Please  do  not  look  so 
grieved.  Aunt  Di ;  I  have  got  used  to  it,  and  do  not  mind  the  crane 
so  much  as  I  did  at  first — at  least,  it  does  not  make  my  head  ache.' 

'And  you  never  told  me.  I  could  not  have  borne  to  have  thought 
of  you  in  this  room,  Ailie.  Well,  you  have  spared  me  many  a  heart- 
ache. I  should  have  wanted  my  child  back  in  her  little  nest,  and 
have  been  unhappy  because  I  could  not  get  her.'  And  Miss  Carring- 
ton positively  shuddered  as  she  looked  at  the  grim  lines  of  the  crane, 
and  round  the  dark,  heavily-furnished  room. 

'  I  am  glad  I  did  not  tell  you,'  returned  Alison  gently,  as  she  un- 
fastened Miss  Carrington's  mantle  and  waited  on  her.  Perhaps 
Aunt  Diana  loved  to  feel  the  soft  little  hands  busy  about  her,  for  she 
offered  no  resistance  as  Alison  smoothed  her  hair,  and  brought  her  a 
footstool,  of  which  she  took  possession  herself. 

'That  is  right,'  observed  Miss  Carrington,  stroking  the  brown  head 
that  laid  itself  in  child  fashion  on  her  lap.  Alison  was  so  very  tired 
there  was  ni^tx  abandon  in  her  attitude,  and  yet  she  was  so  happy  too. 

'  Now  we  will  have  one  of  our  cosy  talks — don't  look  at  the  door, 
Ailie — I  am  in  no  hurry  for  my  tea.  My  dear,  I  am  longing  to  tell 
you  how  it  is  your  letters  have  miscarried ;  I  read  them  all  for  the 
first  time  last  night.' 

'  Aunt  Di,  do  you  mean  that  you  have  flown  to  us — only  telegraph 
wires  could  have  done  it,'  laughing  incredulously. 

'  You  may  be  sure  that  I  should  have  flown  to  you  if  I  had  the 
power,'  returned  Miss  Carrington  seriously.  '  Ailie,  I  was  not  in 
Switzerland,  as  you  thought.  I  was  recalled  suddenly,  a  fortnight 
ago,  by  Mr.  Moore's  sudden  illness.  Greville  telegraphed  for  me, 
and  I  came  home  at  once.' 

'  Mr.  Moore  ill ! '  exclaimed  Alison,  with  a  fast  paling  face. 

*  Yes,  very  ill ;  but,  thank  God,  my  dear  old  friend  is  better  now. 
It  has  been  an  anxious  time  for  us,  darling.     Greville  is  cast  down 


AN   UNEXPECTED  VISITOR.  l8l 

and  unhappy — you  need  not  look  at  me  so  reproachfully.  I  would 
not  write  to  you — it  would  have  given  you  useless  pain,  and  I  was  so 
engrossed  with  nursing  that  letters  were  impossible  luxuries.  Little  did 
I  think  in  my  night  watching  that  Ailie  was  anxious  and  unhappy  too.' 
'  Aunt  Di,  that  is  why  you  look  tired.' 

*  Tired  !  Nonsense,  child.  It  is  a  blessed  thing  to  wear  out  one- 
self for  one's  friends.  I  love  that  sort  of  fatigue.  I  could  not  have 
left  my  patient  until  he  was  out  of  danger  ;  but  now  I  can  safely  trust 
him  in  Greville's  charge.  He  is  a  capital  nurse,  in  spite  of  his 
boyishness,  and  he  has  Burton  to  help  him.  By  the  bye,  Mr.  Moore 
sent  his  love  to  Sunny.  Stay,  I  must  try  and  remember  his  message  ; 
he  bade  his  little  sunbeam  remember  her  mission,  and  not  to  be 
afraid  of  cloudy  days.' 

*  Did  Mr.  Greville  send  me  a  message,  too? '  asked  Alison,  a  little 
timidly.     Miss  Carrington  hesitated. 

'  Well,  I  think  he  sent  his  love,  too — in  fact,  he  sent  a  great  many 
messages  ;  but  I  told  him  I  could  not  be  a  carrier  of  nonsense,  and 
should  only  deliver  one — "  That  he  had  kept  his  promise,  and  had 
been  working  famously." ' 

'  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,'  returned  Alison,  brightening  at  this.  *  Aunt 
Di — it  was  not  good  of  you  to  keep  Mr.  Moore's  illness  from  me  ;  I 
should  have  liked  to  have  shared  your  anxiety.  Dear  old  man,  I  am 
so  thankful  he  is  spared  ! ' 

'  His  character  seemed  lovelier  than  ever  in  his  hours  of  suffering,' 
observed  Miss  Carrington  thoughtfully ;  '  he  was  so  patient,  so 
grateful  to  us  all  for  our  care  of  him.  I  understood  then  what  being 
like  a  little  child  meant — it  seemed  as  though  it  were  we  who  were 
blind,  not  he — he  seemed  so  steeped  in  the  light  of  heaven.' 

'  Do  you  think  he  wanted  to  die  ? '  asked  Alison,  in  an  awe-struck 
voice.     '  How  strange  it  seems  that  he  should  be  so  willing  to  go  ! ' 

'  Why  not  ? '  replied  her  aunt.  '  Death  has  no  terrors  for  him. 
Why  should  he  fear  the  summons  from  the  Master  whom  he  loved 
and  tried  to  serve  here,  and  who  died  on  the  cross  for  his  redemption  ? 
And  yet  he  was  resigned  to  stay,  for  Greville's  sake. 

*  "  The  lad  wants  me  a  little  longer,"  he  said  once.  "  Well,  I 
suppose  I  can  spare  my  boy  a  year  or  two  out  of  eternity ;  I  mean 
to  have  no  will  of  my  own  about  it.  When  the  Master  calls,  I  shall 
be  ready  ;  but  perhaps— for  who  knows  His  graciousness  ? — He  may 
be  thinking  of  my  boy  too."' 

'  How  I  should  love  to  see  him  again  !'  exclaimed  Alison,  with  a  sigh. 


182  AUNT  DIANA. 

*  So  you  will  by-and-by,  I  hope.    He  missed  you  dreadfully,  Alison.' 

'And  you,  Aunt  Di?' 

'  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  about  that.'  Then,  as  Alison's  eyes 
looked  pleading,  she  continued  earnestly  :  *  Child,  I  believe  we  are 
a  sort  of  necessity  to  each  other — at  least,  I  find  my  life  will  not 
shape  itself  properly  without  you.  I  am  always  thinking  how  Ailie 
will  like  this  or  that.  Your  absence  quite  took  away  the  pleasure  of  my 
trip.  You  naughty  child,  you  look  delighted  ;  but  there  comes  my  tea 
— please  make  me  a  cup,  and  then  tell  me  all  about  your  poor  father.' 

Alison  was  soon  narrating  the  story  of  the  last  fortnight.  Miss 
Carrington  had  received  hers  and  Roger's  letters  late  the  previous 
night,  and  Mr.  Moore's  had  put  her  in  possession  of  the  latest  news  ; 
still  there  was  much  that  she  wished  to  hear.  She  listened  attentively, 
and  without  interruption,  as  the  girl  poured  out  the  history  of  her 
hopes  and  fears.  Her  grave,  interested  face,  and  now  and  then  a 
tightened  grasp  of  Alison's  hand,  spoke  in  mute  sympathy,  but 
otherwise  she  said  little. 

'  It  has  been  a  dreadful  time,'  finished  Alison.  '  Roger  and  I  were 
so  afraid  about  papa,  and  then  Missie  was  so  unhappy  and  ill.  That 
is  Roger's  whistle,  Aunt  Di — he  is  wondering  what  has  become  of 
me.     Shall  I  call  him  in?'     And  Miss  Carrington  nodded. 

Roger's  look  of  intense  surprise  amused  them  excessively,  but  he 
welcomed  his  aunt  with  evident  satisfaction. 

'  Now  Ailie  will  be  all  right  again,'  he  observed,  with  a  smile  at 
her ;  '  she  has  been  Aunt  Diana  sick  for  months.  You  are  not 
going  to  take  her  away  from  us  just  at  present,  are  you  ? ' 

'  No,  not  just  now,'  returned  Miss  Carrington  quietly.  '  I  am 
going  to  stop  until  you  are  tired  of  me,  and  then  Ailie  and  I  must 
say  good-bye  to  each  other  for  a  little  longer.  What  should  you  say 
to  bringing  her  for  a  few  weeks  in  the  spring,  if  your  father  gets  better  ? 
You  look  in  want  of  a  change,  Roger;  they  are  working  you  too 
hard,  my  boy.' 

'You  must  not  tempt  me,  Aunt  Diana,'  he  returned,  rather 
gravely ;  '  there  will  be  no  holiday  for  me  next  year.  The  whole 
concern  rests  on  my  shoulders  at  present,  and  our  manager  is  a 
defaulter.     Alison  shall  go  with  you,  and  welcome.' 

'  Well,  well,  we  must  see  about  it ;  winter  comes  before  spring. 
There  is  plenty  of  time,  and  I  don't  mean  to  give  up  my  plan  of 
having  you  and  Ailie  together.  Now  I  must  see  your  father ;  will 
you  take  me  to  him  ?  '     And  Roger  consented  with  alacrity. 


AN   UNEXPECTED  VISITOR.  183 

In  the  passage  she  stopped  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

'  Thank  you  for  taking  care  of  Aihe  ;  I  know  how  good  you  have 
been  to  her.' 

'  It  is  she  who  has  been  good  to  us,'  he  returned,  with  a  sudden 
flush.  'Aunt  Diana,  you  do  not  know  the  blessing  she  has  been  to 
us ;  we  have  to  thank  you  for  that.  Ahson  would  never  have  been 
the  girl  she  is  if  you  had  not  taken  so  much  pains  with  her.' 

*  Don't  make  me  vain,  Roger.' 

*  Missie  and  I  have  proposed  buying  her  a  little  red  morocco  book 
and  presenting  it  to  her,'  continued  Roger,  with  dry  humour ;  '  the 
title  will  be  "Aunt  Diana's  Sayings,"  for  Ailie  brings  out  a  fresh  one 
every  day.  Missie  says  she  is  inventive,  and  coins  them  herself;  but 
I  have  an  idea  that  they  are  genuine.' 

Miss  Carrington  shook  her  head  at  him,  and  only  bade  him  lead 
the  way  to  his  father's  room.  Alison  had  already  prepared  him  for 
his  sister-in-law's  visit,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  with  a  pleased  smile. 

'  This  is  kind,  Diana.  I  said  the  silence  was  not  like  you  ;  my 
poor  girl  here  has  been  fretting  herself  about  it ;  but  of  course  you 
never  got  the  letters.' 

*  No,  indeed ;  Alison  will  tell  you  all  about  it  presently.  It  is  too 
late  for  me  to  prolong  my  visit  now.  Invalids  should  be  quiet  at 
this  hour.  You  see  I  understand  all  about  it,  Ainslie ;  but  I  am 
grieved  to  the  heart  to  see  you  like  this.' 

*  You  must  not  make  yourself  unhappy  about  it ;  it  is  only  a  case 
of  patience,  and  I  have  good,  attentive  children.  I  wish  their 
mother  could  see  them  ;  she  was  always  so  proud  of  them.' 

'  Yes,  indeed  !  Poor  Florence,  you  must  miss  her,  Ainslie.'  And 
Miss  Carrington's  lip  quivered  slightly,  for  her  sister  had  been  the 
object  of  her  dearest  affection ;  she  had  never  felt  so  drawn  to 
Florence's  husband  as  she  did  now ;  her  grey  eyes  rested  upon  him 
pityingly.  ,       .     , 

'  Children,  you  must  take  care  of  your  aunt ;  she  must  be  tired 
with  her  journey.  To-morrow  you  must  come  and  sit  with  me, 
Diana.'  Miss  Carrington  felt  herself  gently  dismissed,  but  she  did 
not  misunderstand  him. 

'  God  will  comfort  you,  Ainslie,'  she  whispered  ;  '  and  Alison  has 
Florence's  sweet  ways  and  looks.  She  must  learn  to  take  her  mother's 
place ;  that  is  partly  why  I  love  her  so.'  And  pressing  his  hand 
kindly,  she  followed  the  others  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

AUNT   DIANA  AT  THE   HOLMS. 

'issTE  received  the  news    of  Aunt  Diana's  arrival  with  an 
exclamation  of  dismay,  and  a  hot  flush   came  to  her  face. 
*  Oh,  Ahson,  it  will  be  dreadful  to  see  her !     I  always  was 
afraid  of  her,  you  know ;  she  is  one  of  those   painfully  good 
people  who  make  one  feel  small  and  horrid.      Please  don't 
let  her  come  in  to-night.'     And  Missie  sat  bolt  upright  in  a  panic. 

Now,  Miss  Carrington  had  quick  ears,  and  she  caught  the  most 
of  this  speech,  and  laughed  to  herself  softly ;  for  it  is  those  who 
try  hard  to  be  good  who  are  the  most  conscious  of  evil  within,  and 
Miss  Carrington  was  one  who  had  often  cried  with  St.  Paul,  '  The 
good  that  I  would  I  do  not.'  Her  heart  felt  very  soft  towards  the 
wilful  little  girl  who  had  brought  such  misery  on  herself  and  others, 
even  before  she  entered  the  room,  but  her  first  sight  of  Missie  gave 
her  a  feeling  of  surprise.  She  said  afterwards  she  ceased  to  wonder 
at  Ainslie's  infatuation  for  the  child,  for  she  was  certainly  a  bewitch- 
ing little  creature. 

The  pink  ribbons  in  Missie's  dainty  dressing  gown  were  not 
pinker  than  her  cheeks,  her  blue  eyes  shone  with  uneasy  light,  and 
the  soft,  fair  hair  lay  in  delicate  rings  above  the  pretty,  childish 
face  ;  her  frightened,  appealing  look  would  have  touched  a  colder 
heart  than  Miss  Carrington's,  and  it  was  with  real  affection  that  she 
bent  over  her.  But  Missie's  tender  conscience  made  her  shrink 
from  her  aunt's  kisses.  i 

*  Please  don't  be  so  kind  to  me,  Aunt  Diana — every  one  is,  and  it ' 
is  not  right.' 

Aunt  Diana  laughed. 

'  My  dear  little  girl,'  she  said,  in  a  droll  voice,  '  we  none  of  us 
want  to  see  our  poor  little  butterfly  broken  on  the  wheel  ;  we  are 
far  too  sorry  for  you.  Of  course,  you  have  been  a  naughty  child  ; 
you  have  been  setting  your  small  world  on  fire,  and  have  got  your 


AUNT  DIANA  AT  THE  HOLMS,  1 85 

pretty  wings  singed.  Well,  now  you  have  learnt  wisdom  through 
painful  experience,  and  we  must  all  help  you  to  get  the  lesson 
perfect.' 

'  I  don't  think  any  one  was  ever  so  wicked  as  I,  Aunt  Diana,' 
sighed  Missie. 

'  Well,  my  dear,'  returned  her  aunt  briskly,  '  it  is  not  my  concern 
to  go  about  weighing  my  neighbour's  trespasses  in  a  balance  ;  I 
don't  fancy  human  scales  would  be  nicely  adjusted  ;  but  I  am  quite 
sure  of  one  thing — that  I  was  a  very  naughty  child  myself — the  red- 
cheeked  apples  I  stole  give  me  moral  indigestion  still.' 

It  was  impossible  to  look  grave  over  this ;  Alison's  merry  laugh 
was  infectious.  Miss  Carrington  stayed  a  few  more  minutes, 
questioning  Missie  about  her  arm,  and  talking  kindly  to  her,  until 
the  poor  child  was  quite  happy  and  at  her  ease. 

'I  don't  know  what  it  is,'  she  said  that  night,  when  AHson  gave 
her  the  good-night  kiss  ;  '  you  all  seem  trying  to  make  me  believe 
that  I  have  not  been  naughty  at  all,  and  that  there  is  nothing  to 
forgive.' 

'  I  thought  forgiveness  meant  that,'  returned  Alison  simply ; 
*  you  know  how  the  Bible  speaks  of  sins  blotted  out — that  means 
the  page  is  white  again  —  one  can  write  freshly  across  the 
blank.' 

There  never  was  a  merrier  supper-table  than  the  one  at  The  Holms 
that  night ;  late  as  it  was,  Poppie  sat  up  for  it,  and  no  one  rebuked 
her  for  her  chatter.  Rudel  kept  up  the  character  of  a  bashful  school- 
boy ;  but  even  he  relaxed  his  wide-eyed  gravity  when  Otter  was 
admired  and  kind  inquiries  made  after  Sulky.  Aunt  Diana  knew 
the  way  to  a  boy's  heart,  though  she  had  never  had  a  boy  of  her 
own  ;  but  there  are  some  unmarried  women  whose  large  natures  can 
embrace  a  whole  world  of  little  ones,  and  such  an  one  was  Aunt 
Diana. 

But  as  she  talked  and  laughed  with  the  others,  her  keen  grey  eyes 
followed  Alison's  every  movement.  It  seemed  to  Miss  Carrington 
that  her  darling  was  changed  somehow — some  of  the  brightness  that 
had  always  lighted  her  young  face  had  faded  a  little ;  she  was 
graver  and  more  in  earnest — like  a  young  knight  who  had  finished 
his  vigil  in  the  church,  where  he  had  dreamed  stiange  visions,  and 
was  now  buckling  on  his  armour  that  he  might  prove  it. 

'  Ailie  has  laid  aside  her  leading-strings,  and  has  learned  to  walk 
alone,'  she  said  to  herself;  '  though  she  loves  me  as  much  as  ever, 


l86  AUNT  DIANA. 

she  needs  me  less.  I  ought  to  be  glad  to  know  this,  for  I  cannot 
expect  to  live  for  ever.' 

The  next  few  weeks  passed  happily  for  Alison ;  she  had  her 
dearest  friend  with  her,  and  what  could  she  ask  for  more? 

Aunt  Diana  had  settled  down  quite  comfortably  in  her  niche, 
as  though  she  were  one  of  the  family.  Without  making  herself  un- 
duly prominent,  or  in  any  way  trenching  on  the  young  housekeeper's 
privilege,  she  yet  contrived,  with  quiet  tact,  to  lighten  Alison's 
burthen  and  procure  her  the  rest  she  so  much  needed. 

Alison  resumed  her  walks  with  Roger,  while  Aunt  Diana  amused 
Missie  or  read  to  Mr.  Merle.  During  the  day  Alison  was  too  much 
engaged  to  enjoy  much  of  Aunt  Diana's  company,  but  Miss  Car- 
rington  insisted  that  she  should  resume  her  painting  lessons  as  soon 
as  Missie  was  able  to  be  with  her  father  ;  and  she  also  contrived  that 
she  and  Alison  should  have  one  of  their  old  refreshing  talks  as 
often  as  possible.  Nothing  rested  Alison  so  much  as  intercourse 
with  Miss  Carrington's  strong,  vigorous  mind. 

Aunt  Diana  quickly  found  her  way  into  Missie's  wayward  little 
heart,  and  she  soon  turned  her  influence  to  good  account.  One 
afternoon,  when  Alison  had  been  spending  some  hours  at  Maple- 
wood,  she  found  on  her  return  that  Missie  had  gone  back  into 
her  old  room.  All  Alison's  pictures  and  books  had  been  moved  ; 
Aunt  Diana's  loving  hands  had  evidently  been  employed  in  her 
service — no  one  else  would  have  arranged  the  bowl  of  dark  chry- 
santhemums on  the  little  round  table,  and  the  pretty  fresh  cretonne 
on  the  couch  and  easy  chair  spoke  of  the  same  taste. 

Alison's  voice  quite  trembled  as  she  thanked  Missie. 

'You  ought  not  to  have  done  it,  Mabel  dear;  it  is  very  good 
of  you,  but  I  would  rather  have  waited  until  you  were  really 
well.' 

'  I  always  meant  to  do  it,'  returned  Missie  solemnly.  '  I  thought 
about  it  every  night,  and  then  I  made  up  my  mind  to  speak  to 
Aunt  Diana,  and  she  said  she  would  help  me.  Have  you  seen  the 
beautiful  illumination  she  has  painted  for  you  ? ' 

Yes,  Alison  had  seen  it. 

*  Be  not  weary  in  well-doing,' — that  was  the  text  that  Miss  Car- 
rington  had  chosen — 'for  in  due  season  we  shall  reap,  if  we  faint  not.' 
Well,  was  not  Alison  reaping  a  rich  harvest?  Would  she  ever 
repent  that  she  had  come  back  to  her  own  people  for  loving  service 
and  ministry,  when  she  had  won  Missie's  affection,  and  found  her 


AUNT  DIANA  AT  THE  HOLMS.  1 8/ 

way  to  her  father's  heart  ?  That  he  loved  and  trusted  her,  that  she 
was  growing  daily  dearer  to  him,  Alison,  with  all  her  humility,  could 
not  doubt ;  but  Missie  was  still  his  petted  darling — the  very  suffer- 
ing she  had  caused  him  brought  them  nearer  together. 

It  was  a  lovely  sight,  Miss  Carrington  thought,  to  see  Missie 
sitting  for  hours  patiently  beside  her  father's  couch,  reading  or 
talking  to  him.  But  for  her  aunt's  vigilant  care  her  health  would 
have  been  permanently  injured  by  her  devotion  to  him ;  before 
she  left  she  made  Missie  faithfully  promise  to  take  her  daily  walk 
and  to  resume  her  singing. 

'  You  must  leave  something  for  Ailie  to  do,'  she  said,  with  a 
smile ;  *  I  cannot  sanction  monopoly.  We  must  watch  against  selfish- 
ness, dear  child,  even  in  our  best  actions ;  we  must  not  be  over- 
exacting  in  our  affection — love  sometimes  compels  one  to  efface 
oneself  for  love's  sake.' 

Anna  was  a  constant  visitor  to  The  Holms  during  Miss  Carring- 
ton's  stay  ;  they  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  each  other.  Anna 
told  Alison  privately  that  she  thought  Miss  Carrington  was  the 
most  beautiful  woman  she  had  ever  seen. 

'  I  don't  know  about  her  features,'  Alison  had  answered  ;  *  I  don't 
think  people  consider  her  handsome,  but  it  is  a  dear  face,  and  that 
is  all  I  care  about.' 

'  I  am  never  tired  of  looking  at  her,'  returned  Anna,  with  girlish 
enthusiasm ;  '  one  sees  the  thoughts  coming  before  she  speaks ; 
her  eyes  talk  to  one,  even  when  she  is  silent.  There  is  something 
harmonious,  too,  in  her  voice,  and  even  in  her  walk  ;  she  never 
jars  on  one ;  I  am  sure  there  are  no  discords  in  her  nature.' 

Alison  repeated  this  speech ;  she  thought  it  so  prettily  worded, 
and  so  true.  But  Miss  Carrington  shook  her  head  over  it,  and 
let  it  pass ;  she  knew  much  better  how  the  chords  of  her  being 
had  once  been  jangled  roughly  out  of  tune.  '  No  discords  in  her 
nature ! '  when  every  note  had  been  dumb  and  tuneless  until  the 
Divine  Hand  had  brought  the  jarred  chords  into  harmony. 

*  When  God's  will  is  our  will,  then  we  shall  know  peace,'  she  said 
to  herself  ;  '  I  have  learnt  that  now.'  But  she  spoke  very  kindly  of 
Anna,  and  praised  Alison's  discernment  in  the  choice  of  a  friend. 
She  is  a  simple,  lovable  little  soul,'  she  said  once  ;  'it  is  quite  a 
treat  in  this  decided  age  to  meet  with  a  girl  who  distrusts  her  own 
judgment,  and  beheves  other  people's  experiences  before  her  own.' 

'  Anna  is  really  very  clever,  Aunt  Di.' 


1 88  AUNT  DIANA. 

*  I  am  sure  of  that,  my  dear  ;  and  she  shows  her  cleverness  by 
not  advertising  her  best  wares.  In  talking  to  her  one  is  not 
dropping  buckets  into  empty  wells — there  is  good  sense  and  a 
clear  knowledge  of  facts  at  the  bottom.  Living  in  an  uncongenial 
atmosphere  has  made  her  shy  and  awkward  ;  she  is  like  a  poor 
little  plant  brought  too  suddenly  into  the  light ;  in  another  year  or 
so  she  will  be  less  pallid  and  depressed ;  she  will  have  learnt  to 
believe  in  herself  a  liide.' 

*  I  am  afraid  you  think  her  plain,'  observed  Alison  anxiously ; 
for  her  artistic  taste  made  her  lay  rather  an  undue  importance  on 
beauty  ;  '  but  really  when  she  talks  and  brightens  up,  she  is  quite 
pretty.' 

*  She  has  a  lovely  look  sometimes.  You  are  wrong,  Ailie  ;  I  do 
not  think  her  plain.  Missie's  apple-blossom  face  makes  her  a  little 
colourless ;  but  there  is  a  delicate  white  rose  bloom  about  her  that 
is  not  without  beauty  ;  I  like  her  face,  my  dear.' 

'  Do  you  know,  Aunt  Di ' — hesitating  a  little,  as  though  she 
feared  how  her  words  might  be  received,  for  Miss  Carrington  had 
a  horror  of  gossip — '  I  am  half  afraid  there  is  a  new  trouble  in  store 
for  poor  Anna.' 

'  You  mean  Eva's  marriage.  I  think  that  will  be  a  good  thing 
for  her  :  there  is  no  real  sympathy  between  the  sisters.' 

'  No ;  I  meant  something  quite  diflferent.  I  have  been  at  Maple- 
wood  a  great  deal  this  week,  and  Dr.  Forbes  is  always  there.  I  am 
afraid,  from  what  I  see,  that  Anna  will  soon  have  a  step-father ;  and, 
Aunt  Di,' — in  a  voice  of  strong  disgust — '  Dr.  Forbes  is  such  an  ugly, 
disagreeable  man,  I  must  say  I  do  wonder  at  Mrs.  Hardwick.' 

'Do  you,  Ailie?  Well,  wonder  sits  well  on  young  people.  I 
hate  to  see  them  taking  everything  as  a  matter  of  course.  Your 
wonder  will  not  hurt  you,  my  dear.' 

'  But  if  it  should  be  true.  Aunt  Di  ?  ' — very  solemnly. 

'  "  There  are  no  fools  like  old  fools,"  Ailie ;  and  there  is  certainly 
no  accounting  for  tastes.  Now,  in  my  opinion,  one  husband  is 
enough  for  any  woman  ;  but  I  do  not  pretend  to  regulate  the  world. 
Don't  trouble  your  little  head  about  it.  I  have  a  notion  that,  step- 
father or  no  stepfather,  Anna  will  have  her  share  of  God's  sunshine.' 
And  Miss  Carrington  smiled  a  queer  little  smile  that  mystified 
Alison ;  but  she  said  no  more. 

There  were  some  things  of  which  Miss  Carrington  never  spoke  to 
young  people.     She  often  said  ;    'A  girl's  mind  ought  to  be  as  clear 


AUNT  DIANA  AT  THE  HOLMS.  1 89 

as  crystal  and  hold  no  secrets — a  crystal  reflects  everything,  I  wish 
older  people  would  remember  that.'  And  nothing  displeased  her 
more  than  the  careless  talk  of  some  mothers.  'They  don't  seem  to 
care  what  they  put  into  a  girl's  mind,'  she  would  say  indignantly, 
'  and  then  they  wonder  that  it  is  choked  up  with  rubbish.' 

Miss  Carrington  took  a  great  deal  of  notice  of  Roger,  and  sought 
every  opportunity  to  be  with  him  ;  she  had  a  great  respect  for  his 
character,  which,  she  said,  was  a  most  uncommon  one. 

*  Roger  differs  from  the  young  men  of  this  generation,'  she  said 
once  to  Alison ;  '  he  cares  little  for  other  people's  opinion,  unless 
he  knows  them  to  be  in  the  right — mere  criticism  does  not  influence 
him  in  the  least.' 

She  took  a  great  interest  in  his  work,  and  made  herself  ac- 
quainted with  the  details  of  the  business.  Roger  wondered  a  little 
at  the  quiet  pertinacity  with  which  she  questioned  him  ;  she  even 
followed  him  to  the  mill,  and  sat  in  the  timber-yard,  watching  the 
men  at  work. 

After  a  few  conversations  with  Roger,  she  spoke  very  seriously  to 
her  brolher-in-law ;  she  told  him  Roger  was  very  young  for  such  a 
responsibility.  '  He  is  a  good  lad,  and  would  wear  himself  out  in 
your  service,  Ainslie,  and  that  without  a  word  of  complaint ;  but  he 
looks  too  old  and  careworn  for  his  age  ;  you  must  remember  he  is 
only  two-and-twenty  yet — he  must  have  his  play-lime,  like  other  lads.' 

'  But  how  am  I  to  help  him,  Diana  ? '  asked  Mr.  Merle  fretfully. 

*  It  is  not  my  fault  that  I  am  lying  here  like  a  log.  The  boy  must 
work,  or  what  would  become  of  us  all  ?  ' 

'  My  dear  Ainslie,  you  misunderstand  me,'  she  replied  gently. 

*  Of  course  Roger  must  work ;  but  surely  he  needs  help  for  so 
large  a  business.  Have  you  put  no  one  in  your  last  manager's 
place  ? ' 

'  No,  not  yet,'  he  returned,  evidently  struck  by  her  practical  good 
sense.  '  Roger  never  proposed  it,  and  I  was  too  indolent  to  think 
about  it ;  but  there  is  Murdoch,  a  Scotchman — he  has  been  with  us 
a  long  time,  and  he  is  an  honest  fellow.  I  dare  say  he  would  be  glad 
of  a  rise  in  his  salary  :  he  has  a  large  young  family.  I  will  ask 
Roger  what  he  thinks  of  putting  Murdoch  in  the  manager's  place ;  I 
think  he  would  watch  over  our  interests.' 

*  I  wish  you  would  do  so,'  she  returned  earnestly ;  *  Roger  is 
rather  too  hard-worked  for  his  age.  He  tells  me  he  has  no  time  for 
cricket  or  tennis,  or  for  skating  in  winter.     I — I  have  set  my  heart, 


igO  AUNT   DIANA. 

Ainslie,  on  his  bringing  Alison  for  a  long  visit  to  Moss-side  in  the 
spring.  You  will  be  better  by  that  time,  and  if  you  have  a  manager 
Roger  will  be  able  to  enjoy  a  holiday  ;  he  tells  me  he  has  not  left 
Chesterton  for  two  years.' 

'  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  remiss  and  neglected  his  interests,' 
returned  Mr.  Merle,  rather  sadly.  '  You  shall  have  your  wish, 
Diana ;  I  will  manage  to  spare  Roger  for  a  month.' 

'  Come,  now,  that  is  generous  of  you,'  she  replied  brightly  ;  '  I 
shall  owe  you  a  good  turn  for  that.  Supposing  I  promise  to  come 
and  spend  my  Christmas  and  New  Year  with  you  ;  shall  you  care  to 
have  me  ? ' 

'  Try  me,'  was  his  only  reply.  But  he  said  it  with  one  of  his  rare 
smiles,  and  Miss  Carrington  felt  she  would  be  welcome. 

The  prospect  of  having  Aunt  Diana  for  Christmas,  and  still  more 
the  promise  of  a  long  visit  to  Moss-side  in  the  spring,  went  far  to 
reconcile  Alison  to  the  parting  when  the  day  came  for  Miss  Carring- 
ton to  leave  them ;  but  when  the  last  hour  arrived  Alison's  heart 
failed  her  a  little. 

'  You  must  not  look  so  pale  over  it,  Ailie,'  Miss  Carrington  said  to 
her  anxiously  ;  '  you  know  if  I  had  the  power  I  would  wiUingly  take 
you  back  with  me.' 

*  Yes,  but  I  could  not  come,'  returned  AHson  slowly.  *  Missie  is 
still  far  from  well,  and  I  could  not  leave  papa  lying  there.  There 
can  be  no  question  now  about  my  duty ;  it  is  a  comfort  to  know 
that.' 

'  Yes,  dearest,  your  place  must  be  here  a  little  longer  ;  they  could 
not  spare  you  to  me  yet.  Do  you  know  I  sometimes  doubt  whether 
the  old  days  will  ever  come  back.' 

'  Oh,  Aunt  Di  !  Do  you  mean  I  shall  never  be  able  to  live  with 
you  again  ? '  asked  Alison,  in  an  alarmed  voice. 

Miss  Carrington  looked  at  her  in  a  strangely  moved  way. 

'  I  do  not  think  you  will  live  at  The  Holms  always  ;  Missie  will 
replace  you  by-and-by.  I  am  quite  sure  we  shall  be  together,  even 
if  it  be  not  in  the  old  way.  Don't  look  so  perplexed,  AiUe  darling  ; 
in  this  life,  with  its  manifold  changes  and  chances,  things  are  seldom 
quite  the  same.' 

'  You  and  I  will  never  be  different — I  am  convinced  of  that,'  ex- 
claimed Alison,  not  in  the  least  understanding  the  drift  of  Aunt 
Diana's  strange  speech.  '  Oh,  Aunt  Di,  how  delicious  the  spring 
will  be !     To  think  that  we  shall  be  rowing  on  the  river  again  to 


AUNT   DIANA  AT  THE  HOLMS.  I9I 

Long  Island,  to  hunt  for  forget-me-nots,  and  that  we  shall  hear  the 
cuckoo  in  Aspy  Woods,  and  I  shall  be  sitting  in  the  studio  watching 
you  painting,  and  Roger  will  be  with  us.' 

*  That's  right ;  look  forward,  Ailie  darling  ;  it  is  your  birthright. 
The  young  must  always  look  on  to  a  happy  future.  Now  say  good- 
bye to  me,  for  I  hear  the  carriage  coming  round.  Christmas  will 
soon  be  here,  and,  God  willing,  we  shall  meet  again.'  And  pressing 
her  tenderly  in  her  arms,  Aunt  Diana  bade  God  bless  her,  and 
turned  away. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AMONG  THE   ROSES   AGAIN. 

'homme  propose  et  Dieu  dispose,'  is  an  old  but  true  axiom. 
Miss  Carrington,  indeed,  spent  her  Christmas  and  the  open- 
ing days  of  the  new  year  at  The  Holms,  to  the  mutual 
enjoyment  of  herself  and  Alison  ;  but  it  was  not  until  the 
end  of  June  that  Alison  and  Roger  paid  their  promised  visit 
to  Moss-side — not  until  the  sweet  fresh  days  of  spring  had  passed 
into  the  glory  of  summer.  Miss  Carrington  had  written  again  and 
again,  pleading  the  compact  she  had  made  with  Mr.  Merle;  but 
neither  of  the  young  people  had  found  themselves  free. 

'  When  we  come  it  must  be  with  a  quiet  conscience,  and  not  with 
a  burden  of  unfulfilled  duties,  dear  Aunt  Di,'  wrote  Alison  at  last. 
'  Missie  can  do  without  me,  but  Roger  cannot  leave  at  present — 
there  is  such  a  pressure  of  business  at  the  mill;  and  if  you  do  not 
mind,  I  would  rather  wait  for  him.' 

Miss  Carrington's  reply  was  curt,  and  to  the  point :  *  Wait  for 
Roger,  by  all  means.  I  am  not  young  enough  to  fear  deferring  an 
unexpected  pleasure,  or  old  enough  to  dread  that  "  by-and-by " 
may  mean  never.  There  is  danger  in  hurrying  on  things  too  much  ; 
we  need  not  crowd  our  lives.  I  will  have  neither  of  you  until  you 
can  put  your  cares  in  your  pockets,  and  take  the  full  meaning  of 
these  sweet,  sunshiny  days.' 

Aunt  Diana's  unselfishness  and  patience  were  rewarded  when  at 
last  the  desired  letter  from  Alison  arrived.  Its  bright  sentences 
sounded  to  her  like  a  ripple  of  soft  laughter  from  youthful  lips.  '  We 
are  coming,  coming,  coming  !'  Could  any  repetition  be  sweeter  than 
that  ? 

It  was  one  of  the  loveliest  evenings  in  June  when  Alison  and 
Roger  arrived  at  the  Riverston  station,  and  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  round  them  in  a  pleased  uncertainty  whether  any  familiar 
face  would  greet  them.     Miss  Carrington  had  hinted  that  she  pre- 


AMONG  THE  ROSES  AGAIN.  I93 

ferred  receiving  her  guests  in  her  own  porch— she  hated  the  bustle 
and  noise  of  a  railway  station.  But  still  Alison's  dark  eyes  would 
scan  the  platform  and  the  sunny  station  room,  half  in  delightful 
recognition  and  half  in  girlish  curiosity. 

'  Ailie,  who  is  that  handsome  fellow  just  getting  down  from  a  dog- 
cart ?  '  asked  Roger.  '  What  a  neat  little  turn-out  !  I  like  a  chest- 
nut mare.  Holloa  !  do  you  know  him  ? '  as  Alison  smiled  and 
bowed. 

*  It  is  Greville  Moore,'  she  said  hurriedly,  and  a  bright  look  of 
pleasure  crossed  her  face  at  the  sight  of  her  old  friend,  which  was 
certainly  reflected  in  the  young  man's  countenance  as  he  came 
forward  and  greeted  them. 

'  You  are  punctual  to  a  minute,'  he  said  joyously,  '  rather  before 
your  time,  for  I  have  only  just  driven  up.  Miss  Carrington  told 
me  I  might  bring  the  dog  cart,  and  your  luggage  might  go  up 
by  the  omnibus.  How  are  you,  Miss  Alison  ?  You  do  not  seem 
at  all  fagged  by  your  long  journey.  I  expected  to  find  a  pair  of 
dusty,  jaded  travellers.' 

'  Alison  is  as  fresh  as  a  lark,'  returned  Roger ;  *  she  has  been 
chirping  like  a  whole  nest-full  all  the  way  up.  It  is  a  good  many 
years  since  we  met,  Moore.  I  should  hardly  have  identified  you  the 
first  minute,  but  for  my  sister's  recognition.' 

'  I  believe  I  should  not  have  known  you,'  replied  Greville,  with 
a  quick,  scrutinising  glance.  '  You  don't  look  first-rate,  does  he, 
Miss  Alison  ?  He  has  an  overworked  appearance.  We  must  give 
him  plenty  of  tennis  and  boating,  and  make  him  look  younger.' 

'  All  work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy,'  laughed  Roger. 
'  Two  or  three  weeks  of  idleness  and  fresh  air  will  make  a  different 
fellow  of  me.  I  mean  to  forget  that  there  are  such  things  as  saw- 
mills in  existence.' 

'  Come,  that  is  sensible,'  returned  Greville  heartily.  *  Miss  Alison, 
will  you  take  the  front  seat  ?  Merle,  the  groom  is  going  to  look 
after  the  luggage,  so  you  need  not  trouble  your  head  about  it.'  And, 
springing  lightly  to  his  place,  he  touched  the  mare,  and  in  a  moment 
they  were  driving  rapidly  down  the  shady  road. 

'  Oh,  there  is  the  river  ! '  exclaimed  Alison,  in  a  tone  of  ecstasy. 
'  Look,  Roger,  you  can  just  catch  a  gleam  through  the  trees — oh  ! 
the  dear  place,  how  I  do  love  it ! '  her  voice  rising  into  a  perfect 
crescendo,  of  which  the  top  note  was  complete  satisfaction. 

*  It  is  just  a  year  since  you  have  seen  it,'  observed  Greville.    *  Miss 

N 


194  AUNT  DIANA. 

Alison,  what  made  you  steal  a  march  on  me  in  that  fashion  ?  I  was 
quite  hurt  that  you  never  gave  me  a  hint  of  your  intention  of  going 
home.' 

He  spoke  in  a  low  tone  that  Roger  could  not  hear. 

The  quick,  sensitive  colour  rushed  into  Alison's  face — there 
was  such  implied  reproach  in  Greville's  voice.  Had  he  really  been 
hurt? 

'  Oh,  you  must  not  feel  like  that  about  it,'  she  returned,  with  a 
sweet,  candid  look.  '  We  had  talked  of  the  possibility,  Aunt  Diana 
and  I,  but  nothing  had  been  settled.  I  had  put  it  out  of  my  mind. 
I  was  so  naughty,  I  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  going  home  and 
doing  my  duty.  I  should  never  have  gone  at  all  if  Aunt  Diana  had 
not  helped  me.' 

*  You  did  not  think  how  I  should  feel  when  I  came  back  and 
found  you  gone,'  retorted  Greville,  in  a  boyish,  injured  voice,  that 
reached  Roger  and  made  him  smile,  only  Alison  grew  a  little  grave. 

'  I  left  a  message  with  your  grandfather,'  she  said  quietly.  '  What 
could  I  do?  Aunt  Diana  said  it  was  my  duty  to  go,  and  that  it  was 
no  good  putting  one's  hand  to  the  plough  and  looking  backwards. 
What  is  the  use  of  loitering  over  a  difficult  task  when  it  has  to  be 
done  ? ' 

'  That  is  true,  but ' 

'Please  don't  talk  of  last  summer,'  she  interrupted  him;  *it 
makes  me  sad  only  to  think  about  it.'  And  he  could  see  there 
were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke.  '  I  made  myself  so  miserable 
over  it ;  I  could  not  bear  leaving  Aunt  Diana,  and  I  missed  every 
one  so.' 

Alison  broke  off  abruptly,  though  everything  had  turned  out  for 
the  best.  Though  she  would  not  have  had  it  otherwise,  still  the 
memory  of  that  struggle  and  the  victory  that  had  cost  her  so  much 
gave  her  a  pained  feeling.  It  is  only  in  heaven,  under  the  clearer 
light  of  a  fuller  and  purer  life,  that  the  victor  will  dare  to  recall 
without  pain  the  fierce  battle  with  the  scorching  fires  of  trial  through 
which  he  has  passed. 

'  Miss  Alison,  please  do  not  look  sad  over  it,'  said  Greville 
earnestly.  '  What  a  clumsy  fellow  I  am  !  I  have  silenced  the  nest- 
full  of  twittering  young  larks ' — referring  to  Roger's  speech.  '  Come, 
I  know  you  will  forgive  me,  and  look  chirpy  again,  when  I  tell  you 
I  have  passed  muster  and  come  off  with  flying  colours.' 

*  Oh,   I   am   so  glad ! '  exclaimed  Alison,  her  smiles  returning 


AMONG  THE  ROSES  AGAIN.  I95 

again.  'Then  you  must  have  worked  hard.  How  pleased  Mr. 
Moore  must  be  ! ' 

'To  hear  grandfather  talk,' returned  Greville  calmly,  'you  would 
think  I  was  the  Admirable  Crichton  at  least.  The  dear  old  man  makes 
no  end  of  fuss,  bless  him  !  I  tell  him  it  is  all  your  doing ;  you  gave 
me  such  a  terrible  lecture  that  Wednesday,' 

'  Oh,  no,'  replied  Alison,  blushing  ;  'it  was  your  own  good  sense.' 

*  I  shall  go  in  for  "  Greats "  next  year,  so  I  shall  have  to  grind 
pretty  hard.  I  am  to  have  a  coach  down  here  this  summer.  Cheyne, 
of  Balliol,  is  at  The  Grays  with  his  people,  and  he  is  a  rare  fellow 
for  that.  I  have  to  worlc  all  ray  mornings,'  he  continued,  rather 
dolorously,  '  but  I  shall  have  my  afternoons  and  evenings  free.  Miss 
Alison,  you  are  not  listening  to  me.' 

*  Oh,  yes,  I  am  !  '  she  cried  joyously,  '  but  I  cannot  bear  any 
more  just  now,  though  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it  all.  Roger,  do 
look  !  there  is  Moss-side — you  know  you  have  forgotten  it — and 
there  is  Aunt  Di  in  the  porch.' 

'  Ailie,  you  have  eyes  like  a  hawk.  I  see  nothing  but  greenery 
and  sunshine.' 

Nevertheless,  Roger  did  perceive,  a  moment  afterwards,  a  tall 
figure  in  myrtle-green  standing  under  a  trellis  of  roses. 

Miss  Carrington  had  evidently  heard  the  wheels  of  the  dog-cart, 
and  had  come  out  to  look.  When  they  stopped  she  had  the  little 
gate  open,  and  was  helping  Alison  to  alight. 

*  How  are  you,  my  dear  child  ? '  she  said,  as  Alison  put  her  arms 
round  her ;  '  actually  not  tired,  Ailie  !  And  you,  Roger  ?  Welcome 
to  Moss-side,  my  boy  ! ' 

'  Aren't  you  going  to  welcome  me,  too.  Miss  Carrington  ?  '  asked 
Greville,  half  jokingly,  but  he  looked  a  litde  wistfully  at  the  group. 

'  No,  not  to-night,'  she  returned  decidedly.  '  I  must  have  my 
belongings  to  myself  for  this  one  evening;  you  may  come  in  to 
breakfast,  if  you  like.'  And,  knowing  of  old  that  Miss  Carrington's 
decisions  allowed  of  no  appeal,  Greville  lifted  his  hat  and  wished 
them  good-evening,  and  turned  his  mare's  head  in  the  direction  of 
the  Fernleigh  stables,  not  without  a  backward  glance  at  the  slim 
dark-eyed  girl  looking  affectionately  in  Miss  Carrington's  face. 

*  Now,  Aihe,  go  to  your  old  room  and  get  rid  of  the  dust,  while 
I  show  Roger  upstairs,'  observed  Aunt  Diana,  in  a  brisk  voice. 
'You  will  find  me  in  the  studio  when  you  are  ready.' 

Her  old  room  1     Alison  gave  a  happy  little  sigh  as  she  trod  on 


196  AUNT  DIANA. 

the  threshold.  What  a  green  little  bower  it  looked,  and  oh,  the 
roses  ! — roses  in  the  quaint  old  china  bowls  that  Aunt  Diana  so 
much  affected ;  roses  in  the  slender  Venetian  glasses  on  the  mantle- 
piece  and  toilet-table;  roses  clambering  into  the  window  and  pressing 
their  pink  faces  against  the  swinging  lattice ;  and  on  the  window-sill, 
dropped  by  some  thoughtful  hand,  a  glorious  Gloire  de  Dijon,  with 
a  background  of  maidenhair  fern,  such  as  Alison  loved  to  wear  in 
her  white  gown.  She  stood  for  a  moment  looking  out  thoughtfully. 
The  long  shady  lawns  of  Moss-side  and  Fernleigh  lay  beneath  her, 
and  through  the  fresh  foliage  of  the  willows  and  acacias  was  the 
silvery  gleam  of  the  lovely  river.  Something  in  the  Sabbath-like 
stillness,  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  in  the  peaceful  satisfaction  of 
her  heart,  moved  Alison  to  kneel  down  among  the  roses,  and  breathe 
a  brief  thanksgiving  for  the  duties  she  had  been  strengthened  to 
perform,  for  the  fatherly  goodness  that  brought  her  back  to  the 
home  of  her  adoption,  and  for  the  human  love  that  was  but  a  dim 
reflection  of  the  Divine. 

She  did  not  hurry  to  go  down,  though  her  luggage  had  not  yet 
arrived,  and  there  was  no  possibility  of  changing  her  travelling-dress. 
But  when  she  had  brushed  her  brown  hair,  and  put  on  her  breast- 
knot  of  roses,  she  looked  trim  as  ever ;  and  her  bright  smiling  face, 
as  she  opened  the  studio  door,  brought  the  name  '  Sunny '  to  Miss 
Carrington's  mind,  for  she  looked  as  all  young  faces  should  look — 
the  very  essence  of  a  sunbeam. 

'  Oh,  Aunt  Di,  the  dear  lovely  room !  And,  oh,  that  is  the  new 
picture  ! '  springing  to  the  easel  to  gaze  delightedly  on  golden  corn- 
fields, with  scarlet  poppies  struggling  among  the  wheat,  like  gaudy 
promises  never  to  ripen  into  fruit,  and  under  the  hedge  a  little  brown 
baby  sleeping  with  its  dimpled  hand  full  of  weeds  and  a  sheep-dog 
watching  its  slumbers. 

'  Do  you  like  the  picture,  Ailie  ?  It  is  sold  already.  Lady  Frank- 
lin fell  in  love  with  it,  but  I  want  it  to  hang  in  next  year's  Academy. 
The  baby  is  painted  from  hfe;  the  original  belongs  to  Barby,  an 
old  servant.' 

'  Aunt  Di,  it  is  perfectly  beautiful !  Roger,  come  here  and  tell 
me  if  you  do  not  think  so.' 

*  Nonsense,  Ailie  ;  Roger  is  far  too  hungry  for  art  criticism  at 
present.  Come  away,  you  fool  sh  child,  and  let  me  give  you  some- 
thing more  satisfying  than  painted  canvas.  The  chickens  came  from 
Barby's  farm,  with  the  strawberries  and  this  jug  of  delicious  cream.' 


AMONG   THE   ROSES   AGAIN.  I97 

Alison  looked  round  rather  bewildered,  for  none  of  these  tempting 
viands  were  in  sight ;  but  Miss  Carrington,  who  knew  her  love  for 
meals  al  fresco,  had  had  the  supper  table  laid  in  the  wide  verandah, 
and  not  only  chickens  and  strawberries,  but  other  delicacies  were 
provided  for  the  hungry  travellers. 

'This  is  better  than  your  tea-table  under  the  limes  at  home,  Ailie,' 
exclaimed  Roger,  as  he  carved  for  the  ladies.  '  No  wonder  she  was 
spoiled,  Aunt  Diana,  and  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  sooty  ivy  and 
the  music  of  the  crane.' 

'Roger,  I  shall  impose  a  forfeit  if  either  you  or  Ailie  mention  the 
mill,'  observed  Miss  Carrington,  as  she  handed  him  a  cup  of  coffee 
enriched  with  Barby's  yellow  cream,  '  I  want  you  two  young  things 
to  forget  everything  but  how  you  are  to  amuse  yourselves.  Ailie, 
shall  we  have  our  breakfast-table  here,  as  we  did  last  year,  while 
the  blackbirds  and  thrushes  take  theirs?  Roger  looks  as  if  he 
wanted  to  live  in  the  open  air.  Do  you  know  you  have  got  thin, 
dear  boy  ? ' 

'Never  mind  that,  Aunt  Diana;  there  is  no  fear  of  rusting,  that  is 
one  blessing — work  never  hurt  man  or  woman  yet.' 

'No,'  she  said  thoughtfully,  'but  "moderation  in  all  things"  was 
an  apostle's  maxim  ;  but  you  are  right  in  principle,  Roger.  Now  for 
the  home  news.  What  is  really  your  father's  condition?  Letters 
are  so  unsatisfactory,  and  they  never  say  half  enough.' 

'  Dr.  Greenwood  is  delighted  with  the  progress  he  has  made.  Aunt 
Diana;  he  gets  across  the  room  quite  nicely  on  crutches,  though 
he  is  not  to  do  more  at  present.  Of  course  the  long  confinement 
has  made  him  look  pale  and  delicate,  but  his  spirits  are  first-rate. 
Dr.  Greenwood  told  me  the  other  day  that  in  another  year  or  so 
he  might  hope  to  be  as  well  as  ever.  He  says  he  is  an  excellent 
patient.' 

'  And  how  does  the  book  go  on  ? ' 

'Very  well,  I  believe;  he  manages  to  write  without  difficulty  with 
the  help  of  a  sloping  board.' 

'  That  was  Roger's  clever  contrivance,'  interrupted  Alison. 

'  Aunt  Diana  does  not  want  to  know  that ;  you  have  broken  the 
thread  of  my  discourse.  Father  does  seem  happier  lying  there  with 
all  his  books  round  him  than  he  did  at  the  mill.' 

'And  we  think,'  broke  in  Alison  again,  with  a  merry  defiant  look 
at  her  brother,  '  that  papa's  place  is  in  his  study,  and  Roger  ought 
to  be  master  at  the  mill.' 


198  AUNT  DIANA. 

*  And  a  very  good  idea  too,'  observed  Miss  Carrington,  looking 
at  her  nephew  with  decided  approbation.  '  How  does  Murdoch 
fulfil  his  duties?' 

*  Admirably ;  he  is  a  very  steady  fellow.' 

*  Then  Ailie's  plan  will  answer,'  she  returned  in  her  practical  way. 
'  There  is  no  reason,  Roger,  why  you  should  not  carry  on  the  busi- 
ness, and  leave  your  father  free  for  his  literary  pursuits.  He  was 
never  fitted  for  a  business  man ;  he  is  too  dreamy  and  unpractical. 
Believe  me,  he  will  be  far  happier  and  less  irritable  if  circumstances 
allow  him  to  follow  his  own  particular  bent.' 

*I  am  quite  sure  of  it.  Aunt  Diana,'  returned  Roger  quietly; 
•and  now  I  have  worked  alone  all  these  months,  I  feel  more 
competent  to  carry  on  the  business  single-handed.  It  has  been 
a  hard  pull — Fergusson  had  done  so  much  mischief;  but  things 
are  righting  themselves  now,  and  with  Murdoch's  help  we  shall  get 
on  capitally.' 

'That  is  well,'  replied  Miss  Carrington  heartily;  'and  now,  how 
does  Missie  go  on?' 

This  time  Alison  answered. 

'Her  arm  is  quite  right,  but  she  still  looks  rather  thin  and  delicate. 
Mrs.  Hardwick— Mrs.  Forbes,  I  mean — wants  to  take  her  to  Tor- 
quay, in  October,  for  two  months ;  she  says  she  will  be  such  a  nice 
companion  for  Anna.     Papa  insists  that  she  is  to  go.' 

•And  how  does  my  little  friend  Anna  get  on  with  her  stepfather?' 

*  He  is  very  kind  to  her,  Aunt  Di.  Roger  is  rather  pleased  with 
him  on  the  whole.' 

*  Dr.  Forbes  is  one  of  those  men  whose  bark  is  worse  than  their 
bite,'  observed  Roger ;  '  he  rather  prides  himself  on  being  a  bear ; 
but  I  think  Miss  Anna  has  proved  there  is  a  soft  spot  in  his  heart.' 

*  I  am  glad  to  hear  this.  Then  the  poor  little  girl  is  happy  on 
the  whole  ? ' 

*  I  don't  think  Anna  is  to  be  pitied,  Aunt  Di,'  returned  Alison,  in 
rather  a  peculiar  tone;  'she  looks  extremely  happy.'  And  something 
in  Alison's  manner  made  Miss  Carrington  change  the  subject ;  it 
certainly  did  not  appear  to  interest  Roger,  for  he  seemed  absorbed 
in  his  strawberries  all  at  once,  and  his  criticism  on  Dr.  Forbes  was 
given  in  rather  a  constrained  voice. 

*  Miss  Leigh  tells  me  that  Missie  is  wonderfully  improved  since 
her  illness,'  observed  Aunt  Diana,  after  a  pause,  which  no  one 
seemed  anxious  to  break. 


AMONG  THE  ROSES  AGAIN.  I99 

*  Indeed  she  is,'  returned  Alison,  with  quick  enthusiasm.  *  I  have 
never  seen  any  one  so  changed ;  she  is  so  much  quieter  in  dress 
and  manners,  and  so  much  more  tolerant  of  Rudel.  Poppie  likes 
to  be  with  her  now,  and  Miss  Leigh  cannot  say  enough  in  her 
praise.  It  is  easy  to  see  how  she  tries  to  break  herself  of  her 
faults,  and  it  is  so  much  harder  for  her  than  for  us,  as  she  has  not 
naturally  a  good  temper.' 

'  Neither  had  I,  Ailie.  Many  a  girl  has  a  sore  fight  to  go  through 
as  well  as  Missie;  it  is  so  easy  to  contract  bad  habits,  and  so 
difficult  to  subdue  them.  I  believe  nothing  but  the  grace  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  and  the  indwelling  of  the  Holy  Spirit  can  enable 
any  one  to  overcome  a  really  bad  temper.' 

And  so  saying,  Miss  Carrington  rose  from  the  table,  and  proposed 
that  Roger  should  go  down  to  the  river  while  she  and  AUson 
disposed  of  the  unpacking. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

*  HE  WILL   HAVE   SUNNY   TO   COMFORT    HIM.* 

^HERE  was  a  merry  breakfast  in  the  verandah  next  morning,  and 
Alison,  in  her  white  dress,  with  some  dewy  roses  as  a  breast- 
knot,  looked  the  picture  of  happiness  as  she  poured  out  the 
coffee. 

Directly  it  was  over,  Greville  took  her  and  Roger  to  see  his 
grandfather. 

Mr.  Moore  was  eagerly  expecting  them  ;  even  before  Alison's  foot 
had  passed  over  the  threshold  his  sightless  eyes  were  turned  to  the 
window,  and  his  '  Welcome,  Sunny,'  reached  her  ears. 

In  another  moment  Alison  was  occupying  her  old  footstool  at  his 
feet,  and  his  fine  wrinkled  hand,  a  little  more  trembling  than  of  old, 
was  placed  on  her  hair,  with  a  half-audible  blessing. 

*  Dear  Mr.  Moore,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again ' 

'  Have  you  missed  us,  little  one  ?  Not  half  as  much  as  we  have 
missed  Sunny.'  And  as  she  pressed  her  lips  to  his  hand  in  mute 
contradiction  of  this,  he  said,  half  sadly,  '  Child,  I  never  thought  to 
have  heard  your  sweet  voice  again,  but  the  good  God  would  have  it 
otherwise  ;  befjre  the  message  reached  me,  it  was  recalled,  the  gates 
were  almost  closed  in  my  face.' 

'  Thank  God  for  that ! '  she  whispered  ;  *  but  they  never  told  me 
that  you  were  ill  until  you  were  well  again.' 

'  Ah,  Miss  Carrington  is  a  wise  woman  ;  she  thinks  it  wrong  to 
burthen  young  spirits  with  sorrows  that  do  not  belong  to  them.  My 
boy  there  nearly  broke  his  heart  about  the  old  man  ;  can  you  believe 
it,  Sunny  ? ' 

'  You  are  like  his  own  father,'  she  returned  softly.  *  He  is  outside 
on  the  verandah  with  Roger.  Are  you  well  enough  to  speak  to  Roger  ? ' 

'  Ay,  ready  and  willing  ;  he  has  grown  a  fine  lad,  I  hear.'  And 
as  Alison  beckoned  to  them,  the  two  young  men  came  in  through 
the  window,  and  Roger  sat  down  by  the  old  man's  side. 

It  was  pleasant  to  Alison  to  see  her  brother's  quiet,  respectful 


ALISON   WAS   SITTING   AT   HER   WINDOW. 


'  HE  WILL   HAVE   SUNNY   TO   COMFORT   HIM.'  203 

manners,  so  full  of  reverence  for  that  wise  and  dignified  old  age,  and 
the  evident  gratification  with  which  Mr.  Moore  listened  to  him.  She 
might  almost  have  believed  herself  forgotten,  but  that  every  now  and 
then  the  thin  hand  passed  lightly  over  her  hair  with  a  caressing 
touch,  which  told  how  he  loved  to  feel  Sunny  near  him  again. 
Greville  kept  a  little  aloof  from  them,  but  not  a  movement  escaped 
his  notice.  Once  Alison  glanced  in  his  direction,  and  met  a  grave, 
touched  look  in  his  eyes,  as  though  something  moved  him. 

Miss  Carrington  presently  came  in  to  see  after  her  charge,  for  such 
she  evidently  considered  the  old  man,  and  dispersed  the  little  group. 
Mr.  Moore  must  have  his  noon-day  rest,  and  then  he  would  be  well 
enough  to  play  to  them  in  the  evening,  but  he  had  talked  to  them 
sufficiently  for  the  present. 

The  rest  of  the  morning  was  spent  in  tennis,  and  in  the  afternoon 
Miss  Carrington  joined  them,  and  Greville  and  Roger  rowed  them 
to  Long  Island,  that  Alison  might  revisit  her  old  haunts ;  and  the 
evening  was  spent  at  Fernleigh. 

This  was  Greville's  only  idle  morning ;  for  the  future  he  adhered 
steadily  to  his  determination  to  work  until  luncheon,  and  as  Alison 
resumed  her  old  habits  of  painting  under  Aunt  Diana's  supervision, 
or  playing  to  Mr.  Moore,  or  reading  to  him,  Roger  found  himself 
left  to  his  own  devices. 

He  took  Miss  Carrington's  advice,  and  lived  in  the  open  air,  either 
lying  on  the  lawn  with  a  book,  or  paddling  himself  lazily  in  a  canoe, 
till  his  face  was  brown  and  ruddy  with  health,  and  he  grew  as  light- 
hearted  as  a  boy. 

In  the  afternoons  and  evenings  the  three  young  people  were 
always  together.  Tennis  and  boating,  or  drives  in  Greville's  dog- 
cart, filled  up  the  afternoon.  When  Mr.  Moore  was  pretty  well,  the 
evenings  were  always  spent  in  his  room;  sometimes  he  played  on  his 
violin  while  Alison  accompanied  him,  or  one  of  the  young  men  read 
aloud  while  the  ladies  worked. 

The  old  man  always  retired  early,  and  then  sometimes  Greville 
would  tempt  them  to  a  moonlight  row  or  stroll,  or  if  Miss  Carring- 
ton refused  this  for  herself  and  Alison,  Roger  and  he  would  pace  the 
garden  in  animated  conversation. 

The  young  men  had  become  great  friends.  Greville,  who  was  a 
few  months  older  than  Roger,  always  acted  as  though  he  were 
younger.  Roger  was  full  of  quaint  drollery,  and  loved  fun  in  his 
own  way,  but  Greville's  spirits  were  liable  to  carry  him  away  ;  he  had 


204  AUNT  DIANA. 

plenty  of  character,  but  Roger's  grave  solidity  and  greater  thought- 
fulness  were  uncommon  at  his  age  ;  nevertheless  Greville's  gaiety 
and  natural  exuberance  covered  a  depth  of  feeling  that  would  have 
astonished  people.  *  A  man  is  a  man  for  a'  that,'  he  would  have 
said,  if  any  one  had  accused  him  of  too  much  love  of  play ;  that  he 
played  well  in  his  youth  was  no  argument  against  his  working  well 
by-and-by.  '  Yoimg  growing  things  must  stretch  themselves,'  Miss 
Carrington  used  to  say  in  loving  extenuation  of  her  favourite. 

When  a  good  woman  thinks  well  of  a  man,  there  cannot  be  much 
amiss  with  him.  Miss  Carrington  always  said  Greville  was  a  fine 
creature,  and  she  had  a  tolerably  shrewd  judgment  of  her  own. 

Aunt  Diana  had  resolved  that  Roger  and  Alison  should  have  as 
much  play  as  possible,  so  she  not  only  revived  her  Wednesdays,  but 
she  gave  a  boating- party  and  a  large  picnic,  Roger  was  a  great 
favourite  with  the  ladies,  old  and  young,  though  he  could  not  com- 
pare in  good  looks  to  Greville,  but  his  honest  face  and  courteous 
manners — the  manners  bred  of  a  perfectly  kind  heart — won  golden 
opinions;  but  Miss  Carrington,  who  had  reasons  of  her  own  for 
watching  him,  could  not  fail  to  notice  that  though  he  was  pleasant  to 
all  the  young  ladies,  he  did  not  single  out  one  as  an  object  for  any 
special  attention,  while  on  the  contrary  Greville  was  always  beside 
Alison. 

She  drew  her  own  conclusions,  but  made  no  remark.  She  always 
said,  '  It  was  like  brushing  the  golden  dust  off  a  butterfly's  wing  to 
speak  of  such  things  to  young  people  before  the  time.'  But  her 
heart  was  very  full  sometimes  when  she  looked  at  Alison.  '  I  will 
not  speak  to  her ;  when  the  time  comes,  she  will  seek  me  of  her  own 
accord,'  she  thought ;  '  there  are  some  things  I  cannot  teach  her, 
that  every  woman  must  learn  for  herself.' 

That  time  came  sooner  than  she  expected. 

One  evening  she  was  sitting  alone  in  the  studio,  writing  a  letter  to 
her  brother-in-law,  when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Alison's  white  gown 
flashing  between  the  shrubs,  and  in  another  moment  the  girl  came 
swiftly  through  the  conservatory,  and  stood  beside  her. 

'Aunt  Di,  I  want  to  speak  to  you.' 

'  One  moment,  Ailie  ;  I  have  just  finished  my  letter  to  your  father. 
Have  you  any  message  for  him  ? ' 

'  Yes — no — oh  !  I  cannot  think  of  one  just  now,'  she  said,  in  such 
a  trembling  voice  that  Miss  Carrington  looked  up  quickly ;  and  what 
she  saw  in  Alison's  face  made  her  drop  her  pen. 


*HE  WILL  HAVE  SUNNY  TO  COMFORT  HIM.'  20$ 

*  Come  and  sit  here,  darling,  and  tell  me  all  about  it ; '  and  as 
Alison  hid  her  burning  face,  drawing  down  Aunt  Diana's  hands,  as 
though  they  would  shield  her  effectually,  she  continued,  tenderly, 
'  Don't  be  shy  over  it,  Ailie.  Of  course  I  know  what  it  is :  Greville 
has  been  speaking  to  you  ? ' 

*  Yes,  Aunt  Di.' 

*  Well,  I  will  scold  him  presently  for  not  speaking  to  me  first/ 
But  there  was  no  anger  in  Aunt  Diana's  eyes,  'I  daresay  his  grand- 
father encouraged  him  ;  he  is  so  set  upon  this.  Well,  Ailie,  and 
what  did  our  boy  say  to  you  ?  ' 

'  Oh,  Aunt  Di,  don't  ask  me,'  returned  Alison  desperately,  *  he 
thinks  too  highly  of  me.  I  am  not  as  good  as  that ;  I  don't  deserve 
it  all' 

*  We  must  allow  for  a  little  exaggeration  under  the  circumstances,* 
returned  Miss  Carrington,  smiling,  and  managing  to  free  her  hands, 
and  so  get  a  glimpse  of  the  hidden  happy  face. 

*  But,  Aunt  Di,'  almost  whispering,  '  are  we  not  too  young  ? 
Greville  will  have  to  be  at  Oxford  another  year,  and — and ' 

'Too  young  to  marry  just  yet,  Ailie  ;  but  I  think,  under  Greville's 
peculiar  circumstances — his  grandfather's  great  age  and  precarious 
health,  and  his  loneliness,  having  no  parents  or  brothers  and  sisters 
belonging  to  him — that  an  engagement  might  be  allowed.  It  will 
make  him  happier,  and  give  him  heart  for  his  work.  In  general, 
Ailie,  I  do  not  approve  of  long  engagements  for  young  people,  they 
are  so  unsettling  ;  but  you  know  Greville's  circumstances  as  well  as 
I  do.    He  is  his  grandfather's  heir ;  in  two  years  he  might  well  marry.' 

*  Then  you  approve  ? '  raising  her  eyes  at  last  to  her  aunt's  face. 

*  Don't  you  know  Greville  is  my  own  boy  ?  he  is  even  dearer  to  me 
than  you  ;  you  must  not  be  sorry  to  hear  that.  One  day  I  will  tell  a 
sad  litde  story  about  myself,  how  a  girl's  self-will  and  temper  lost  her 
the  noblest  lover  a  woman  could  have.' 

*  I  guess  who  it  was;  I  always  knew,'  murmured  Alison. 

'  Greville  is  dear  to  me  for  his  father's  sake,'  returned  Miss  Car- 
rington, almost  solemnly.  '  No  more  of  this  just  now,  Ailie.  If  you 
love  me,  dear  child,  you  little  know  how  happy  it  makes  me  to  know 
my  two  darhngs  are  to  be  united.' 

'  Really  and  truly  happy,  Aunt  Di  ? ' 

'  Yes,  surely,  dearest ;  and  this  has  been  the  wish  of  Mr.  Moore's 
heart.  Ah,  here  comes  Greville ;  he  looks  almost  as  shy  over  it  as 
you  do,  Ailie.' 


206  AUNT  DIANA. 

But,  shy  or  not,  there  was  no  mistaking  the  expression  of  proud 
happiness  on  the  young  man's  face.  A  look  passed  between  him  and 
Miss  Carrington,  and  then  she  held  out  her  hand, 

'  Well,  Greville,  have  you  come  to  be  scolded  ? '  she  asked 
playfully, 

'  Yes ;  but  you  would  not  have  the  heart  to  do  it,'  was  his  reply. 
'  Cara,'  with  a  pause  on  the  old  name,  '  how  could  I  help  it  ? '  And 
his  glance  at  Alison  was  sufficiently  eloquent. 

*  Well,  Greville,  I  think  you  are  worthy  even  of  her,'  And  now 
something  like  the  glimmer  of  unshed  tears  softened  the  keen  grey 
eyes.  '  God  bless  you,  my  boy  !  you  have  fulfilled  the  great  wish  of 
my  heart,' 

There  was  a  little  more  talk  after  this,  and  then  Greville  said, 
'  Alison,  I  think  we  ought  to  go  to  my  grandfather ;  this  will  make 
him  very  happy,'     And  then  Alison  obediently  rose. 

There  was  a  touching  scene  with  the  old  man.  '  Now  I  can  sing 
my  Ahinc  Dimittls,'  he  said,  raising  his  sightless  eyes  towards  heaven, 
and  a  beautiful  smile  played  round  his  lips.  *  When  the  messenger 
comes,  my  boy  will  not  be  left  desolate,  he  will  have  Sunny  to  com- 
fort him.'  And  again  his  hands  were  placed  on  her  bright  hair  to  invoke 
a  blessing. 

Roger's  turn  came  next.  He  had  been  out  all  day  on  a  fishing 
excursion,  and  on  his  return  Greville  had  waylaid  him,  and  told  him 
the  news.  Alison,  who  was  sitting  at  her  window,  trying  to  compose 
her  fluttered  spirits,  saw  them  coming  up  the  garden  walk  together, 
and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  there  was  a  hasty  step  at  her  door,  and 
Roger  burst  into  her  room. 

She  knew  how  glad  he  was  by  the  way  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  her,  even  before  he  had  uttered  a  word. 

But  it  came  at  last. 

'  Ailie,  I  never  was  so  pleased  in  my  life.  Of  course  I  knew  it  was 
coming.  He  is  a  fine  fellow  ;  you  are  giving  me  just  the  sort  of 
brother  I  wanted,  and  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you.' 

'  He  told  you,  then  ?  '  a  little  bashfully. 

*  Yes  ;  he  had  been  waiting  ever  so  long  by  the  river  bank.  It  is 
my  belief  that,  like  King  Midas,  he  had  been  whispering  his  secret 
to  the  rushes.  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  what  he  said  about 
you.    He  has  thoroughly  convinced  me  that  he  fully  appreciates  Ailie.' 

*I  am  so  glad  you  will  be  friends,'  returned  Alison  simply,  quite 
ignoring  the  latter  part  of  Roger's  speech;  in  her  modest  opinion  of 


'HE  WILL  HAVE  SUNNY  TO  COMFORT   HIM.'  20/ 

herself,  she  never  ceased  wondering  at  Greville's  lover-like  speeches ; 
it  was  dear  and  kind  of  him  to  say  such  things,  she  thought,  but 
she  did  not  deserve  them. 

She  said  as  much  to  him  one  day,  when  their  engagement  was  but 
a  week  old,  but  he  turned  decidedly  wilful. 

'I  shall  think  of  you  just  as  I  like,'  he  said  quietly;  'and  I  know 
I  shall  never  alter  my  opinions.  I  don't  care  what  your  faults  are ; 
you  are  perfect  in  my  eyes,  just  because  you  are  Alison.'  And  after 
this  she  gave  up  the  point. 

But  on  the  evening  before  she  left  Moss-side,  she  and  Aunt  Diana 
had  one  of  their  long  talks.  Greville  had  just  left  them  grumbling, 
in  spite  of  an  invitation  to  breakfast  the  next  morning,  and  though 
he  knew  that  he  was  expected  at  The  Holms  in  six  weeks'  time,  to 
make  acquaintance  with  Alison's  home,  and  to  introduce  himself  to 
Mr.  Merle.  But  Miss  Carrington  paid  no  attention  to  his  boyish 
discontent ;  this  hour  belonged  to  her,  she  said,  in  her  decided  man- 
ner ;  Greville  might  talk  to  Roger,  but  she  wanted  Ailie  to  herself. 

So,  while  the  two  young  men  paced  up  and  down  by  the  river, 
Alison  and  Miss  Carrington  sat  in  the  dim  studio,  looking  out  into 
the  moonlight.  There  was  so  much  that  they  had  to  say  to  each 
other  on  this  last  night 

'You  do  not  think  me  too  hard-hearted  to  insist  on  a  two  years' 
engagement,  Ailie  ?  '  Miss  Carrington  said  presently.  '  Mr.  Moore 
has  begged  me  over  and  over  again  to  reconsider  my  decision ;  but, 
indeed,  I  think  Greville  is  too  young  for  such  a  responsibility.  In 
two  years  he  will  be  five  and-twenty.' 

'  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise,  Aunt  Di,'  returned  Alison  quietly. 
'  In  two  years'  time,  papa  will  be  well  and  strong — at  least,  Dr.  Green- 
wood tells  us  so — and  Missie  will  be  older;  I  can  be  spared  then, 
and  can  leave  home  far  more  happily.' 

'  Is  Greville  content  with  this  ?  ' 

'  I  have  talked  to  him,  and  made  him  see  that  we  are  both  right. 
Of  course,  we  shall  both  feel  the  separation  a  little  hard ;  but  now  I 
have  promised  to  spend  at  least  two  months  next  summer  at  Moss- 
side,  and  he  is  to  pay  flying  visits  to  The  Holms,  I  think  we  ought 
to  be  content ;  and  then  there  are  the  letters — letters  are  such  a 
pleasure.' 

'And  in  two  years,  Alison  Merle  is  to  be  Alison  Moore.' 

*  I  hope  so,  Aunt  Di.' 

*  Darling!  that  day  will  be  a  happy  one  for  me.     I  love  you  both 


208  AUNT  DIANA. 

SO  much,  and  then  I  shall  have  you  near  me.     Think  of  Fernleigh 
being  Ailie's  home  ! ' 

'  A  beautiful  home  ! '  she  returned. 

*  Roger  will  miss  you  the  most,  dear.' 

'  I  hope  not  by  that  time,  Aunt  Di.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  speak 
of  it ;  he  has  never  given  me  the  right  to  do  so ;  but  I  think — I  hope 
— Anna  may  be  able  to  comfort  him  for  my  absence.' 

'  What  makes  you  think  so,  dear  ? '  she  asked  very  quietly ;  and  yet 
the  same  thought  had  occurred  to  her. 

'  It  is  Roger's  manner ;  it  has  changed  so  much  of  late.  Once  he 
used  to  be  as  friendly  as  possible  with  Anna,  but  now  he  never  men- 
tions her  name  if  he  can  help  it ;  but  when  any  one  talks  of  her  I 
can  see  the  way  he  listens,  and  the  look  that  comes  into  his  eyes ; 
he  is  always  so  pleased  when  I  tell  him  she  is  coming  to  The  Holms, 
and  he  is  so  nice  with  her,  speaking  so  gently  to  her,  and  anticipating 
all  her  wishes  ;  you  could  not  doubt  what  it  meant  if  you  saw  them 
together.  And  she  is  just  as  sweet  to  him  as  one  could  wish — very 
shy,  but  so  simple  and  childlike.' 

'  She  is  a  dear  little  thing,  and  I  dare  say  she  has  improved.' 

*  Yes,  indeed,  even  Missie  owns  she  is  almost  pretty  sometimes  ; 
not  that  that  matters,  when  she  always  looks  so  sweet  and  good.  Oh, 
Aunt  Di,  I  have  grown  to  love  her  so  ! ' 

'  Roger  is  a  wise  man,'  observed  Miss  Carrington  thoughtfully ; 
*  if  he  chooses  Anna  for  his  wife,  he  will  find  her  certainly  "  above 
rubies."  There  is  the  law  of  kindness  in  her  lips ;  I  never  knew 
any  one  so  perfectly  gentle.' 

'  Missie  is  actually  growing  fond  of  her ;  they  will  be  nice  com- 
panions for  each  other  when  1  leave  home.  Oh,  Aunt  Di,  how 
beautifully  everything  has  turned  out !  Papa  is  better,  and  Missie  is 
growing  more  amiable  every  day ;  Rudel  is  not  so  rough,  and  Poppie 
is  the  dearest  little  soul,  and  Miss  Leigh  is  so  much  more  cheerful ! ' 

'  God  has  accepted  our  sacrifice,  Ailie,'  returned  Aunt  Diana 
solemnly ;  '  a  blessing  has  come  down  on  your  efforts  in  a  way  we 
never  expected.' 

' "  Give,  and  it  shall  be  given  to  you  again,"  is  the  Divine  law  of 
love.' 

'  Darling  !  I  never  loved  you  so  much  as  when  I  sent  you  from  me 
to  do  your  duty.' 


A   IvIST  OK   BOOKB 


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young  New  York  business-man,  who  is  detained  by  the  lameness  of  his  horse 
at  Brueton's  Bayou,  and  there  presently  meets  his  fate  in  the  form  of  a  brilliant 
and  beautiful  girl  of  the  region,  has  the  nonsense  taken  out  of  him  very 
thoroughly  by  his  Southern  experiences.  '  Miss  Defarge'  is  a  strong  study  of  a 
very  resolute  and  self-centred  young  woman,  who  accomplishes  many  things 
by  sheer  force  of  will.  But  the  most  interesting  and  charming  figure  in  it  is 
that  of  EHzabeth  Dysart,  the  blonde  beauty,  a  kmd  of  modernized  Dudu, — 
'  large  and  languishing  and  lazy,' — but  of  a  sweetness  of  temper  and  general 
lovableness  not  to  be  surpassed." — New  York  Tribune. 


***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the 
price. 

J.  B,  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

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PUBLICATIONS    OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 
American  Novels,  No.  1. 

THE  DESERTER  and  FROM  THE  RANKS. 

By  Captain  Charles  King, 
Author  of  "  The  Colonel's  Daughter,"  "  Marion's  Faith,"  etc. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 
Square  lamo.    Extra  cloth,  $i.oo.    Paper,  50  cents. 

"Captain  King  is  one  of  the  best  of  modem  writers  of  military  fiction, 
■worthy  to  rank  on  this  side  the  water  with  John  Strange  Winter  on  the  other. 
His  pictures  of  army  life  impress  one  by  their  manifest  sincerity,  their  dramatic 
interest,  and  their  wholesome  and  manly  motives.  These  two  stories  have  a 
tone  and  an  atmosphere  wholly  different  from  the  commonplace  novel  of  the 
day,  and  for  that  reason  alone  they  are  highly  enjoyable." — Boston  Literary 
World. 

"  The  gallant  captain  has  all  a  soldier's  generous  enthusiasm  for  lovely  woman 
and  the  delights  of  a  cosy,  love-lit  home,  and  his  heroines  are  all  sweet,  whole- 
some women  that  do  honor  to  his  heart  and  pen.  These  two  stories  are  bright 
and  interesting,  and  we  heartily  recommend  them  to  public  favor." — Gertnan- 
iown  Teleg-raJ>h. 

"  Captain  King  surpasses  any  other  writer  of  army  life  that  we  have  yet  had, 
and  his  sketches  of  society  life  and  character  at  the  military  stations  in  the  far 
West  are  as  brilliant  as  they  are  entertaining.  The  plots  of  both  these  stories 
are  ingeniously  conceived  and  skilfully  carried  out,  and  they  are  replete  with 
stirring  and  exciting  incidents." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  The  author  has  had  the  good  sense  to  select  a  department  of  fiction  which 
he  is  excellently  fitted  to  describe.  There  is  just  enough  of  wholesome  plot  in 
'  The  Deserter'  and  '  From  the  Ranks'  to  keep  the  reader's  interest  unabated  to 
the  end.  The  tone  of  the  work  is  fresh  and  charming.  Captain  King  has  a 
quick  and  sentient  touch,  and  his  writing  is  that  of  one  whose  belief  in  mankind 
is  untouched  by  bitterness.  One  reads  his  tales  with  the  satisfying  sense  of  a 
cheerful  solution  of  all  difficulties  on  the  final  page.  It  is  a  relief,  indeed,  to 
turn  from  the  dismal  introspection  of  much  of  our  modem  fiction  to  the  fresh 
naturalness  of  such  stories  as  these." — New  York  Critic. 

"  The  author  of  '  The  Colonel's  Daughter'  has  studied  the  intrigues,  jeal- 
ousies, and  romances  of  army  life  on  the  spot,  and  draws  life-like  portraits  of 
favorite  officers  and  men,  of  overbearing  captains'  wives  and  sisters,  and 
describes  the  monotonous  camp-life  and  its  sudden  dangers  truthfully." — New 
York  Publishers'  Weekly. 

"  He  tells  his  stories  with  so  much  spirit  that  one's  interest  is  maintained  to 
the  end.  The  character-studies  are  good  and  the  plot  cleverly  developed."— 
New  York  Book-Buyer. 

"  The  characters  are  all  truly  soldierly  men,  of  no  low  rank  in  the  American 
army.  There  is  plenty  of  intrigue  in  the  plot  to  show  that  there  is  more  than 
one  kind  of  an  explosive  in  a  camp.  The  society,  life,  and  amusements  of  this 
certain  class  of  people  are  very  clearly  brought  to  light,  and  if  it  were  not  for 
the  positive  fact  that  they  exist  only  in  fiction,  one  could  easily  imagine  that 
they  were  real  persons,  so  natural  and  real  do  their  actions  seem.  The  reader 
can  gain  several  new  ideas  in  regard  to  the  pleasures  of  those  in  the  army  as 
well  as  an  idea  of  some  of  the  dangers  that  constantly  threaten  the  officers, 
from  Captain  King's  full  description  of  them." — Boston  Herald. 

***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the 
price. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  Publishers, 

715  and  717  Market  Street,  Philadelphia. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

Picked  Up  in  the  Streets. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  H.  SCHOBERT. 
Translated  by   Ulrs.   A.   L,.  ^WISXBR* 


12ino.      Extra  Cloth.      ^1.25. 


"  An  entertaining,  romantic  story,  with  a  healthy  moral.  The  pathos 
5S  genuine,  and  those  who  figure  in  it  are  unexaggerated  types  of 
human  nature.  It  may  be  read  with  profit  and  pleasure  by  old  and 
young." — Boston  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  romance  of  more  than  usual  interest.  Like  so  many 
novels  of  the  epoch,  it  is  Russian  in  motive,  but  the  scenes  are  laid 
in  France  and  Germany.  The  characters  in  the  story  are  so  high- 
spirited  and  intensely  aristocratic  in  their  way  that  loves  and  hates, 
plots  and  counterplots,  and,  above  all,  the  duel,  will  be  deliciously 
pleasing  to  simple  republicans.  But  the  story  has  even  a  greater 
merit  than  its  interest — it  is  not  too  long." — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  You  read  on ;  things  become  interesting ;  the  '  plot  thickens ;' 
new  elements  are  drawn  into  it ;  new  contingencies — new  impossi- 
bilities— emerge,  to  be  resolved  after  much  bitterness  into  sweet 
harmonies  and  things  altogether  possible.  Two  or  three  strong 
characters  stand  aloof  and  aloft,  and  show  that  Herr  Schobert 
has  a  sharp  power  of  analysis  and  characterization,  and  that  his  Ger- 
mans and  Russians  are  not  walking  and  talking  puppets.  The  court 
life  at  a  petty  German  principality  is  admirably  depicted ;  not  less  so 
the  courtiers  and  princelings,  and  the  strong,  luminous  figure  of  the 
heroine.  Mrs.  Wister  translates  with  delightful  ease,  and  brings  all 
these  things  before  us  as  if  she  were  composing  originally,  and  not 
translating." — N.  Y.  Critic. 

"  As  a  romancer  H.  Schobert  expresses  himself  with  delicacy. 
His  ideas  of  life  are  not  overwrought,  although  at  times  they  assume 
a  highly  sensational  character.  The  interest  of  his  story  centres  in 
his  picturesque  and  realistic  views  of  society  life  at  the  German 
court,  where  the  prominent  scenes  are  mostly  laid.  He  has  the 
power  to  shift  from  one  scene  to  another  without  disturbing  the  har- 
mony of  the  whole,  and,  with  Mrs.  Wister  as  a  translator,  his  work 
cannot  fail  to  find  favor." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Like  all  of  Mrs.  Wister's  translations,  it  is  spirited  and  enter- 
taining."—71?/^^^  Blade. 

*^t*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on  re« 
ceipt  of  the  price  by  the  publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

THE  OLD  MAM'SELLE'S  SECRET. 

BY   E.    MARLITT 

Translated  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 

12mo.    Extra  Cloth.     $1.50. 
CHKA-P  EDITION.    Faper  Covers,    35  Cts. 


"  It  is  one  of  the  most  intense,  concentrated,  compact  novels  of 
the  day.  The  work  has  the  minute  fidelity  of  the  author  of  the 
*  Initials,'  the  dramatic  unity  of  Reade,  and  the  graphic  power  of 
George  Eliot." — Columbus  yournal. 

"  One  of  the  best  of  Marlitt's  novels.  The  translation  is  so  well 
done,  so  exceptionally  well  done  indeed,  that  the  story  reads  as  if 
originally  written  in  English,  instead  of  in  German." — Peter ion^t 
Magazine. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  vigorous,  powerful,  and  fascinating  of  the 
series.  It  enlists  the  deepest  interest  from  the  first  page  and  enchains 
it  to  the  close.  It  is  strong  and  graphic  in  its  portraitures,  intense 
and  dramatic  in  its  diversified  coloring.  Humor  and  pathos  succeed 
each  other,  while  the  drama  moves  rapidly  on.  Opening  with  the 
mischance  of  the  huntsman,  presenting  immediately  ihe  catastrophe 
of  the  juggler's  wife,  and  taking  us  thence  to  the  home  of  the  austere 
and  cold  Frau  Hellwig,  the  scenes  are  swift  and  absorbing  in  their 
movement.  The  writer  has  a  rare  faculty  of  condensed  and  accurate 
delineation." — Albany  Journal. 

"  A  novel  which  has  been  received  with  remarkable  favor,  and  for 
the  very  good  reason  that  it  is  a  capital  story." — Chicago  Evening 
yournal. 

"  A  more  charming  story,  and  one  which,  having  once  commenced, 
it  seemed  more  difficult  to  leave,  we  have  not  met  with  for  many  a 
day."— 7)4^  Round  Table. 

"  A  novel  whose  sterling  attractions  have  been  abundantly  proved 
by  the  reading  public,  both  in  the  original  and  in  the  English  ver- 
lion." — New  York  Home  Journal. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS   OF  J.  B.  LIPPIXCOTT  COMPANY. 

GOLD   BLSIE. 

BY  E.  MARLITT. 

Translated  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 

X2II10.     Extra  Clotli.     ^i.^o* 


** '  Gold  Elsie'  is  one  of  the  loveliest  heroines  ever  introduced  to 
ttie  public." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  A  charming  book.  It  absorbs  your  attention  from  the  title-page 
to  the  end." — T^e  Chicago  Home  Circle. 

"  No  one  who  has  read  '  The  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret,'  with  its 
rapid  story,  its  melting  pathos,  and  its  strong  characterization,  needs 
to  be  told  of  the  singular  merits  of  the  writer.  That  was  universally 
recognized  as  one  of  the  most  absorbing,  powerful,  and  dramatic 
stories  which  had  come  across  the  ocean  in  many  a  day.  The  same 
German  original  and  the  same  English  reproducer  give  us  the  present 
volume." — Albany  Journal. 

"  The  novel-reading  public  of  the  United  States  owe  a  debt  of 
gratitude  to  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister  for  her  translations  from  the  German, 
partly  for  the  judgment  she  has  always  shown  in  her  selection  of 
authors  to  be  translated,  and  partly  from  the  skill  and  the  taste  that 
has  always  characterized  her  versions,  or  adaptations,  if  indeed  it 
would  not  be  better  to  call  them  her  improvements  of  the  originals. 
The  evidences  of  nationality  which  force  themselves  upon  us  in 
translations  by  inferior  hands,  who  as  a  rule  understand  neither  the 
language  they  translate  from,  nor  the  language  they  translate  into, 
never  offend  us  in  her  graceful  and  picturesque  pages,  which  read  as 
freshly  and  naturally  as  if  English  were  the  native  tongue  of  their 
writers.  The  flavor  of  the  German  mind  remains,  but  the  idioms 
of  the  German  speech  have  departed.  They  are  thoroughly  English, 
and  thoroughly  enjoyable." — A^ew  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  Marlitt's  novels  deser\'e  their  popularity,  and  it  is  fortunate  that 
they  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  so  excellent  an  interpreter  as  Mrs. 
Wister,  whose  translations  have  all  the  life  and  vigor  of  original 
productions." — Philadelphia  American. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on 
seeeipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY, 


GOUNTBS  GISEU. 

BY  E.  MARLITT. 

Translated  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 

ismo.     Extra  Clotb.     91.50. 


"  One  of  the  very  best  of  its  class,  and  is  a  genuine  representation 
of  court,  burgher,  and  rural  life  in  Germany.  The  translation  is 
^irited  and  faithful." — Philadelphia  Press. 

*'  There  is  more  dramatic  power  in  this  than  in  any  of  the  stories 
by  the  same  author  that  we  have  read." — New  Orleans  Timet' 
Democrat. 

"The  author  of  'The  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret'  and  of  'Gold 
Elsie'  will  never  lack  for  admirers  among  the  novel-reading  public 
in  this  country  so  long  as  the  translation  of  her  writings  is  in  the 
hands  of  Mrs.  Wister.  The  present  volume  is  the  latest  from  Miss 
Marlitt's  ever-busy  pen,  and  is  marked  by  the  same  power,  dramatic 
unity,  and  naturalness  which  are  so  characteristic  of  her  writings."— 
Chicago  Evening  Journal, 

«•  E.  Marlitt,  the  author  of  •  Gold  Elsie,'  « The  Second  Wife,'  etc., 
has  again  given  the  reading  public  a  treat  in  this  novel,  translated 
from  the  German  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister.  There  is  a  restfulness  in 
these  works  that  can  be  found  in  no  others  of  the  present  day,  while 
the  vim  of  romance  running  through  them  sustains  the  interest  from 
beginning  to  end." — Harrisburg  Patriot. 

" '  Gjuntess  Gisela'  would  be  recognized  even  without  the  name  oa 
the  title-page  as  by  the  author  of  '  The  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret.* 
Mrs.  Wister  has  given  Marlitt  an  extended  popular  reputation  in 
this  country,  and  a  new  translation  from  this  ready  writer  is  alwsjs 
sure  of  plenty  of  readers." — Philadelphia  Times. 


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receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

The  J^ittle  j\Joorland  frincess. 

BY  E.  MARLITT. 

Translated  by  NIrs.  A.  L-.  Wister. 

x2tno.    Kxtra  Clotb.     Si<50. 


"  A  charming  story." — New  York  Observer. 

"  The  plot  is  admirably  contrived." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  The  story  is  delightful  for  its  simplicity  and  for  the  exquisite  man- 
ner in  which  its  characters  are  drawn." — Boston  Evening  Traveller. 
"  The  heroine  is  most  charmingly  sketched." — Philadelphia  Even- 
ing  Telegraph. 

"  There  is  the  mild  radiance  and  pleasant  warmth  of  a  day  in  June 
pervading  the  whole  romance,  and  it  is  a  great  luxury  to  give  one'a 
self  up  to  its  balmy  influence." — Chicago  Evening  yournal. 

"  To  insure  eager  readers  for  this  book  it  is  only  necessaiy 
to  announce  it  as  written  by  the  author  of  '  The  Old  Mam'selle's 
Secret,'  and  translated  from  the  German  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 
But  we  believe  that  the  general  opinion  following  perusal  will  be 
that  ♦  The  Little  Moorland  Princess'  transcends  not  only  in  interest 
but  in  picturesqueness  and  dramatic  power  the  work  which  has  so 
largely  contributed  to  the  fame  of  bofch  author  and  translator.  We 
have  in  this  book  both  the  drama  and  the  scenery;  and  the  merit 
of  strong  characterization  is  even  surpassed  by  that  of  vivid  word- 
painting.  One  seldom  meets  in  print  a  prettier  picture  than  that  con- 
tained in  the  first  half-dozen  pages  of  this  book,  but  it  has  many 
companion  pieces  throughout  the  volume.  The  plot  of  the  story  is 
intricate,  but  skilfully  developed,  and  the  style  of  the  writer  is  not 
only  bright  and  vivacious,  but  thoroughly  artistic.  The  sentiment  is 
also  true  and  worthy,  and  the  work,  in  its  entirety,  altogether  charm- 
ing and  delightful." — Washington  Chronicle. 

"  A  story  full  of  what  an  American  story  cannot  be  full  of,  and 
charmingly  told.  German  mystery  is  unlike  our  mystery,  so  this 
itory  is  unlike  our  English  and  American  stories." — Toledo  Blade. 

"  It  is  a  bright,  fresh,  vivacious  story,  told  in  the  most  animated 
and  entertaining  manner,  worthy  in  sentiment  and  skilful  in  every 
point  of  artistic  finish." — Albany  Journal. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

THE  SECOND  WIFE. 

A  KOHANCE.     BY  E.  KARLITT. 

Translated  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 

I2II10.     Extra  Clotli.     $1.50. 


"  A  German  story  of  intense  interest,  by  one  of  the  best-known 
writers  of  romance  of  that  country." —  Washington  Chronicle. 

"  We  rarely  encounter  a  novel  that  we  can  read  with  so  much 
pleasure  and  can  commend  so  unreservedly  as  this  volume.  It  de- 
serves to  rank  with  the  best  works  of  modern  continental  novelists, 
even  with  that  of  Tourg6niefF  himself,  whose  books  it  somewhat 
resembles  in  tone  and  spirit.  It  is  a  striking  psychological  essay,  a 
masterly  study  of  character,  and  at  the  same  time  a  vivid  and  fasci- 
nating picture  of  life.  The  incidents  of  the  story  are  intensely,  though 
not  sensationally,  dramatic,  and  the  reader's  interest  increases  from 
the  arrival  of  the  bride  to  the  simple  but  sufficient  and  satisfactory 
denouement." — Literary  World, 

"  The  book  is  intensely  interesting,  in  some  places  quite  'thrilling.' 
It  is  by  far  the  best  of  Mrs.  Wister's  translations." — New  York 
World. 

"  It  is  much  better  than  any  of  its  predecessors.  It  is  a  romance 
of  high  life  in  Germany,  full  of  interesting  incidents,  and  told  in  a 
most  picturesque  style." — St.  Louis  Globe- Democrat, 

"  A  genuine  love-tale,  and  has  all  the  freshness  and  depth  of  feel- 
ing one  may  look  for  in  such  scenes  depicted  by  such  a  hand.  There 
is  passion  and  feeling  in  every  page  of  it,  and  the  people  are  very 
real  in  their  actions  and  manners.  One  only  regrets  in  parting  with 
this  delighful  book  that,  like  all  good  things,  it  seems  too  short." — 
Boston  Evening  Transcript. 

*' '  The  Second  Wife'  is  decidedly  a  clever  novel." — Chicago  Review, 

"  In  •  The  Second  Wife'  we  have  a  German  tale  of  tragic  power. 
Some  of  the  scenes  are  described  with  marvellous  vigor,  and  the 
situation  is,  at  times,  appalling." — John  Bull. 

"  A  charming  love-story — more,  it  is  a  work  of  rare  excellence  in 
plot,  tone,  and  language." — Pittsburgh  Commercial. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

ATTHEGOUNGILLOR'Si  ' 

Or,  A  tameless  Bistory. 

BY  E.  MARLITT. 

Translated  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 

X2ino.     Extra  Clotb.     4IK1.50. 


"  Pure  in  tone,  elegant  in  style,  and  overflowing  with  the  tender 
and  openly  expressed  sentiment  which  characterizes  human  romance 
in  Germany." — Worcester  Spy. 

"  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister  is  the  most  industrious,  as  well  as  the  most 
judicious  and  successful,  of  translators  in  the  department  of  light 
literature.  She  adds  to  the  list  of  her  gifts  to  readers  'At  the 
Councillor's,'  a  romance  from  the  German  of  E.  Marlitt,  whose 
writings  are  a  mine  that  this  translator  has  worked  most  success- 
fully."— New  York  Evening  Post. 

"  Marlitt's  novels  are  always  welcome,  because  they  are  always 
good." — Philadelph  ia  Chronicle-Herald. 

"  E.  Marlitt  has  become  a  very  popular  author  in  America  since 
Mrs.  Wister  began  to  translate  her  works,  and  the  latest  of  her  trans- 
lations will  be  eagerly  read.  It  is  in  her  peculiar  style,  so  that 
nobody  could  fail  to  recognize  it  as  from  the  same  pen  as  '  The  Old 
Mam'selle's  Secret.'  " — Boston  Post. 

"  Marlitt  has  produced  some  of  the  best  novels  that  have  found 
their  way  into  English  type,  among  them  'The  Old  Mam'selle's 
Secret,'  which  has  probably  been  as  extensively  read  as  any.  Other 
books  from  the  same  fruitful  pen  are  '  Gold  Elsie,'  '  The  Second 
Wife,'  and  '  Countess  Gisela.'  Marlitt's  novels  are  a  valuable  addi- 
tion to  any  private  library." — Rochester  Union. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

In  iKe  ScWnin^5courL 

A  KOMANCE.    BY  E.  MAELITT. 

Translated  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 

x2ino.     Extra  Clotb.     4iki.30. 


"  This  book  is  the  best  of  its  author's  works  in  respect  to  strength, 
vividness,  and  interest." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  best  of  E.  Marlitt's  romances,  translated  by  Mrs. 
A.  L.  Wister,  who  has  an  established  reputation  for  excellence  of 
judgment  in  choosing  works  for  translation  and  for  grace  and  skill 
in  translating  them." — AVw  York  Evening  Post. 

"  None  of  its  predecessors  have  surpassed  it  in  elaborateness,  in 
artistic  structure,  and  in  dramatic  interest.  Indeed  justice  cannot  be 
done  to  its  excellence  in  these  qualities  except  by  a  much  longer 
review  than  our  limits  allow.  It  presents  some  wholly  novel  pictures 
of  social  life  among  high-bom  and  rich  German  families." — Phila- 
delphia Evening  Bulletin. 

"  The  story  is  powerfully  told,  with  close  attention  to  accessories 
and  careful  elaboration  of  character.  Its  coloring  is  harmonious  and 
truthful,  its  spirit  and  purpose  are  pure  and  elevated,  and  its  total 
impression  is  marked  by  both  unity  and  strength." — Literary  World. 

"  The  novel  is  one  of  exceptional  interest." — St.  Louis  Republican. 

"  This  is  one  of  Marlitt's  best  stories." — Cincinnati  Commercial 
Gazette. 

"  This  story  of  German  life  is  admirably  rendered  by  Mrs.  Wister, 
and  the  story  itself  is  strong,  interesting,  and  worth  being  told  in 
more  than  one  tongue." — New  York  Observer. 

"  A  pure,  graceful,  and  piquant  composition,  transfused  with  all  the 
energy  and  force  which  we  imagine  the  original  to  possess.  Besides 
the  intrinsic  interest  of  the  characters,  and  the  situations  in  which 
they  are  placed,  this  story,  as  well  as  all  the  others  which  Mrs.  Wister 
has  interpreted  to  the  English  mind,  is  a  thoroughly  pure  and  honest 
piece  of  fiction." — Philadelphia  Press. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

THE  BAILIFF'S  MAID. 

A  ROKAKCE.     BY  E.  MABIITT. 

Translated  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 

i2mo.     Extra  Clotli.     $1.25. 


*'One  of  the  freshest  and  piirest  of  these  charming  romances  of 
rural  life  in  Germany.  It  is  a  charming,  breezy  romance.  One 
of  the  best  of  the  Marlitt  novels." — Philadelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  A  delightful  work,  in  its  author's  best  vein,  and  is  attractive  in 
plot  and  remarkably  strong  in  characterization." — Boston  Saturday 
Evening  Gazette. 

"It  is  a  charming  love-story." — Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

"  A  piece  of  fiction  so  faithful  to  life  as  to  seem  no  fiction;  a  summer 
love-idyl,  invested  with  the  nameless  charm  and  quaintness  of  old- 
world  existence;  a  plot  of  the  simplest  and  most  transparent  charactet, 
yet  with  mysteries  and  surprises  so  skilfully  handled,  and  a  technique 
so  fresh  and  rich,  that  the  book  cannot  be  laid  down  until  it  is  finished 
at  a  single  sitting, — these  are  the  light  and  airy  qualities  that  consti- 
tute what  may  be  called  a  novel  of  refreshment,  and  '  The  Bailiff's 
Maid'  possesses  them  in  an  eminent  degree." — The  American. 

"Another  fine  translation.  The  type  of  heroine  is  charmingly 
original,  splendidly  strong  and  pure." — New  Orleans  Democrat. 

"  Long  ago  Mrs.  Wister  laid  a  natural  embargo  on  the  novels  of 
Mailitt,  and  she  continues  her  translations  from  this  and  other  safe 
and  respectable  writers  of  novels  with  commendable  regularity. 
Translations,  like  originals,  are  lady-like,  good,  and  not  without 
instruction.  Readers  of  •  The  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret'  and  •  Gold 
Elsie'  will  not  be  deceived  in  the  new  romance.  It  is  especially 
to  be  recommended  for  wholesome,  light  reading  for  young  people." 
—New  York  Times. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

A  PENNILESS  GIRL. 

A    NOVKIv. 


FROM  THE   GERMAN    OF   W.   KEIMBERG. 
By  MRS.  A.  L.  WISTER, 

Translator  of  "  Quicksands,"  "  Banned  and  Blessed,"  etc. 
lamo.     Extra  cloth.     $1.25. 

"  It  has  a  clever  and  ingenious  plot,  and  possesses  marked 
interest.  The  characters  are  lifelike,  and  the  incidents  in  which 
they  figure  are  both  probable  and  natural.  Mrs.  Wister  is  one  of 
the  best  translators  from  the  German  in  this  country,  and  the 
felicitous  manner  in  which  she  has  done  her  work  in  the  present 
volume  adds  to  the  charm  of  the  truly  agreeable  novel." — Phila- 
delphia Evening  Call. 

"  Mrs.  Wister's  translations  are  always  valuable  additions  to 
our  literature.  She  selects  such  works  as  are  pure  and  simple  in 
plot,  attractive  in  style,  and,  above  all,  agreeable  and  instructive. 
The  character  of  Elsie,  the  penniless  and  unwelcome  girl,  wins 
the  reader's  sympathy  and  love,  and  the  denouement^  which  is 
satisfactory,  proves  that  virtue  and  true  love  always  are  rewarded. 
The  story  is  one  that  a  parent  need  not  hesitate  to  introduce  into 
the  family  circle." — Norristown  Herald, 

"  This  is  one  of  the  delightfully  fresh,  quaint,  and  simple  tales 
which  Mrs.  Wister  so  often  selects  to  give  us  in  English,  and  it  is 
one  of  those  novels  whose  moral,  though  slight,  is  good,  and 
whose  pages  contain  only  wholesome  and  charming  sentiments, 
and  characters  that  we  are  glad  to  know." — Boston  Courier. 


\*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on 
receipt  of  price. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Publishers, 


PUBLTCATJONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

VieLETTA. 

A   ROMANCE. 

After  the  German  of  Ursula  Zdge  von  Mantenffel. 

Translated  by  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister. 


I2MO.   Cloth.   $1.25. 


"'Violetta,'  as  adapted  by  Mrs.  Wister,  is  a  clever  novel.  The  characters 
•re  clear-cut,  natural,  and  strong.  The  situations  are  full  of  interest,  the  dialogus 
IS  bright  and  vigorous.  The  heroine  is  a  particularly  happy  conception,  worked 
out  with  much  slcill.  There  is  decided  power  in  the  book,  and  a  delicacy  of  manip- 
ulation so  rare  as  to  be  very  agreeable.  Mrs.  Wister  has  so  skilfully  adapted  the 
story  that  it  could  not  read  more  smoothly  if  it  had  been  written  in  English." — 
•VVto  York  Tribune. 

"  To  see  the  name  of  Mrs.  A.  L.  Wister  on  the  title-page  as  the  translator  of 
a  German  story  has  become  a  sufficient  guarantee  that  the  book  is  of  high  merit 
and  fascinating  interest.  This  is  eminently  true  of  her  latest  translation,  'Vio- 
letta ;'  while  the  character-drawing  throughout  is  very  strong  and  artistic,  the 
charming  little  heroine  is  presented  with  exquisite  beauty.  The  plot  of  the  story 
is  worked  out  in  a  manner  to  hold  the  closest  interest,  and  the  local  coloring  as 
well  as  the  character-drawing  is  beautifully  artistic,  while  the  sentiments  of  the 
story  can  but  meet  the  approval  of  the  most  exacting." — Boston  Hotnt  yournal. 

"  In  brief,  tTiis  novel  is  thoroughly  charming  and  should  receive  a  wide  and 
growing  circle  of  readers." — St.  Louis  Repuhlican. 

"  This  is  a  charming  story,  and,  although  romantic  in  tone,  preserves  the  natu- 
ral to  an  eminent  degree.  It  is  a  story  of  German  high  life,  and,  of  course,  can- 
not be  prosaic.  In  giving  this  book  to  the  public,  Mrs.  Wister  has  made  an  ex- 
cellent selection  from  German  light  literature.  It  Is  a  book  that  everybody  can 
read  with  pleasure  and  profit." — Charleston  News  and  Courier. 

"  It  has  become  to  be  understood  in  this  country  that  any  book  of  Germaa 
author  which  Mrs.  Wister  condescends  to  translate  for  American  readers  is  weD 
worthy  their  attention.  This  book  emphasizes  their  opinion.  It  is  a  charminf 
ttory,  and  the  lady  is  to  be  thanked  for  so  carefully  catering  to  the  taste  of  hsi 
riientage.  Of  course,  the  print  and  binding  is  everything  to  be  desired  ' — fitt» 
kttrg  Chronicle-Telegraph. 


•«*  I'or  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postaga 
prepaid,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Pnblisliers, 

715  and  717  Market  St.,  Philadelphia. 


SAINT  MICHAEL 

Jftrs.  Wister's  Jfetc  Translation. 

A.  Romance.    From  the  German  of  E.  Werner,  author  of  "  Banned  and 
Blessed,"  etc. 

BY    NIRS.  A.  r^.  WISXER, 

TBANSLATOB  OP 

"The  Second  Wife,"  "  The  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret,"  "  Violetta,"  etc 
12tno.    Extf  a  Cloth.    $1.25. 


The  novels  of  E.  Werner  are  always  readable  and  in  the  highest  de- 
gree entertaining.  Mrs.  Wister's  refined  and  pure  taste  never  leads  her 
amiss  in  making  her  selections,  and  the  novel  before  us  is  more  interest- 
ing than  any  of  its  predecessors.  She  is  one  of  the  best  translators  from 
the  German  in  this  country,  and  the  felicitous  manner  in  which  the 
work  has  been  done  in  the  present  volume  adds  to  the  charm  of  a  truly 
agreeable  novel. 

"  Of  the  many  charming  translations  from  the  German  by  Mrs.  Wister, 
none  can  surpass  in  interest  that  of  '  St.  Michael,'  the  characters  being 
strong  and  naturally  drawn.  The  work  abounds  in  striking  situations, 
and  does  not  contain  a  page  which  the  reader  is  disposed  to  skip." — BaUi- 
more  News. 

"  The  romantic  tales  of  E.  Werner,  which  Mrs.  Wister,  through  indus- 
trious translation,  has  made  well  known  to  American  readers,  are  appre- 
ciated by  many  who  like  pure  romance  to  sweeten  the  realities  of  life. 
'  St.  Michael,'  the  last  in  the  series,  abounds  in  many  poetical  and  dra- 
matic situations,  is  full  of  military  fire  and  energy,  having  many  spirited 
scenes,  and  maintaining  the  interest  of  the  reader." — Boston  Journal. 

"  It  is  full  of  life,  many  of  the  incidents  are  exciting,  and  the  characters 
in  themselves  becoming  interesting  as  the  romance  progresses." — Pitts- 
burg Chronicle- Telegrajih. 

"  The  novel  before  us  is  more  interesting  than  any  of  its  predecessorg. 
The  manner  in  which  the  work  has  been  done  adds  to  the  charm  of  a 
truly  agreeable  novel." — Harrishurg  Telegraph. 

"  A  thoroughly  enjoyable  story,  and  one  which  will  never  be  left  un« 
finished  when  once  begun." — Boston  Courier. 

"  The  story  is  a  brisk  one,  at  times  almost  melodramatic ;  with  two 
romances  of  unusual  interest."— Philadelphia  Bulletin. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the 
price  by  the  Publishers, 

J.  B.  L-IF=»F»INCOTT    COTVIPT^NV, 

715  and  717  Market  St.,  Fhiladelphia. 


•REDUCED   IN  PRICE  TO   $1.25-1-^ 


THE  COLONEL'S  DAUaSTER; 

OR, 

^ri\]VIKG   HIS  SPURS. 

l2mo.    Extra  CUtb.    S1.2S, 


*•  The  sketches  of  life  ia  a  cavalry  command  on  the  frontier  are  esceediagty 
▼hfid  and  inieresdng ;  aad  the  element  of  adventure  is  furnished  in  the  graphic 
and  spirited  acoouuts  of  affairs  with  the  ho-tile  Apaches.  Captain  King  is  to  be 
thanked  for  an  entertaining  contribution  to  the  slender  stock  of  Anjerican  mili- 
tary novels — a  contii  butioji  so  good  that  ire  hope  that  he  »?jll  give  us  another." 
• — M.  v.  TriiuKe. 

"  The  fertility  of  this  field  of  garrison  aad  rescrvaitoa  life  has  already  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  several  writers.  We  took  up  the  warkcf  Captain  King 
with  the  impression  that  it  might  belike  some  of  these,  an  ephemeral  production; 
we  found  it  instead  a  charming  work,  worthy  of  achieving  a  permanent  place  in 
literature.  We  cordially  congratulate  Captain  King  «jn  his  aocootpli-shed  suc- 
cess, for  such  unquestionably  it  is." — Army  and  N/tvy  JoKyHAl,  N.  V. 

"  There  have  been  few  American  novels  published  of  late  years  so  tboroi^ly 
readable  as  '  The  Coloned's  Daughter,'  which,  if  it  be  Cajstain  King's  first  essay 
ita  fiction,  is  assuredly  a  most  encouraging  production." — Literary  World. 

"  The  volume  is  a  remarkable  work  of  fiction,  and  will  be  foun<£  entertaining 
and  well  worthy  acareful  reading." — Ckicugo  Tr&Kne. 

"  Not  for  many  a  season  has  there  appeared  before  tfie  public  a  novel  so 
thoroogfely  captivating  35  *  The  ColoaeJ's  l>aughter  '  J Ls fresh  flavor  caanot  fiii 
to  please  the  veriest  evxuve,  while  its  chariEing  style  would  disarm  the  most 
fastidious  critic.  With  that  delicacy  of  touch  peculiar  to  his  workmanship,  he 
draws  now  upon  pathos,  now  upon  humor,  but  never  str  =ins  cither  (Quality  to  it* 
utmost  capacity,  which  distinctly  proves  that  Captain  King  is  a  writer  of  signal 
ability,  whose  norelof  'The  Calonel's  Daugfetec'  we  hope  is  bsit  the  prelude, 
to  many  others." — Milwaxkee  Sentinel. 

"  X  departure  into  a  new  field  in  isovel  writir^  ocight  always  to  be  wd- 
comed.  *  The  Coloael's  Daughter'  is,  strictly  speaking,  the  first  American  mil- 
itary novel,  it  is  a  good  one,  and  Captaim  King  ought  to  follow  up  thecomplete 
success  he  has  made  with  other  stories  of  army  life  on  tfee  American  frontier. 
The  style  of  the  author  is  unaffected,  pmre  in  tone,  aitd  efevatiog  in  moral 
effect." — IVtecoKitK  Sta4e  yhttrKo^. 

Captain  King  has  in  this  novel  prepared  for  us  a  cliar  aitd  inte.tesrtitig  story 
of  army  incidejats  ia  the  West.  He  is  tzx/kit  in  the  art  which  made  Sir  Walter 
Scott  a  coiapanion  for  old  and  young — the  art  which  brings  to  the  mind  of  the 
reader  that  sequent  power  which  places  us  directly  into  comnuuiKjn  with  the 
imasinary  characters  filling  their  parts  in  a  book.  The  military  incidents  are 
interwovem  int )  the  inspiring  love  episode  that  to  the  pages  of  this  work  add  aa- 
ioiation." — Times- DemocrtU,  New  Orleans. 

'"  The  Colonel's  Daughter;  or,  Winning  HisSpjirs,'  a  story  of  military  life 
at  an  Aricona  post,  written  by  Captain  Charles  King,  U.S.A., aod  published  by 
J.  B.  Lippincott  &  Co.,  Philadelphia,  may  rightfully  dasm  to  be  a  good  novel. 
Its  characters  are  strong  aod  clear-cut ;  its  plot  original  and  well  sustained,  and 
die  pictures  of  military  life  on  the  frontier,  of  Apacbe  character,  and  of  the 
physical  features  of  Arizona  Territory  are  realistic  and  fascinating." — Satt 
Franciscj  BkIUHw. 

"The  outcome  if  the  navel  is  just  what  every  reader  would  wish.  It  is  a 
splendid  story,  full  of  life  and  enjoyment,  and  will  doubtless  prove  a  great 
feiTorite." — [maa'State  Register,  Des  Moines. 

For  Sale  by  all  Bookseilereu 

Pablished  by  J    B   LIPPINCOTT  COMPACT,  Philadelphia.  Pa 


PUBLICATIONS   OF  y.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 
"A  BRILLIANT  PICTURE   OF  GARRISON  LIFE." 

MARION'S  FAiTH. 

^Y  Captain  CHARLES  KING,   U.S.A., 

AvXhoi  of  "The  Colonel's  Daughter," 
"  Kitty's  Conquest,"  etc 

t2mo.      Extra  cloth  ______  $1.25 

"  Captain  King  has  done  what  the  many  admirers  of  his  charming 
first  story, '  The  Colonel's  Daughter,'  hoped  he  woTuld  do, — hehas  written 
another  novel  of  American  army  life.  The  present  is  m  some  sort  a 
eontinuaiion  of  the  lonxjer,  many  of  the  characters  of  the  first  story  re- 
appearing in  the  pages  of  this  volume.  The  scenes  of  the  story  are  laid 
in  the  frontier  country  of  the  West,  and  fights  with  the  Cheyenne  Indians 
afford  sufficiently  stirring  incideots.  The  same  bright,  sparkling  s-tyle 
and  easy  manner  which  rendered  '  The  Cbtonel's  Daughter'  and  '  Kilty's 
Conqnest'  so  popular  and  so  delightfiil,  characteriie  the  present  volume. 
St  is  replete  with  spirited,  interesting,  humorous,  and  pathetic  pictures  of 
soldier  life  on  the  frontier,  and  wilt  be  received  with  a  warm  welcome, 
not  only  by  the  large  circle  of  readers  of  the  author's  previous  works, 
but  by  &.\  who  delight  in  an  excellent  story  charmingly  told." — Chicago 
Mvening  youmal. 

"  The  author  of  this  novel  is.  a  gallaat  soldier,  now  on  the  retired  list 
by  reason  of  wounds  received  in  the  line  of  duty.  The  5avor  with  which 
bis  books  have  been  received  proves  that  he  ca^n  write  as  well  as  fight. 
'Marion's  Faith'  is  a  very  pleasing  story,  with  a  strong  i?avor  of  love  and 
shoulder-straps,  and  military  life,  and  cannot  bat  charm  the  reader." — 
National  Tribuve,  Washiyigton,  D.  C. 

"  Captain  King  has  cnught  the  true  spirit  of  the  Amer>car>  novel,  for^ 
lie  has  endowed  his  work  fuily  and  freely  with  the  dash,  vigor,  breeziness, 
bravery,  tenderness,  and  truth  which  are  recognized  throughout  the 
•vorld  as  our  national  characteristics.  Moreover,  he  is  letting  in  a  flood 
of  light  upon  the  hidden  details  oiarmy  life  in  our  frontier  garrisons  and 
amid  the  hills  of  the  Indiart  country.  He  is  giving  the  public  a  bit  of 
insight  into  the  career  of  a  United  States  solaier,  and  abundantly  de- 
monstrating that  the  Ousters  and  Mfleses  and  Crooks  of  to  day  are  not 
mere  hired  men,  but  soldiers  as  patriotic,  unselfish,  and  daring  as  any 
of  those  who  went  down  with  the  guns  in  the  great  civil  strife.  Captain! 
King's  narrative  work  is  singularly  fascinating." — St.  Lowis  Republican. 

"  As  descriptions  of  life  at  an  army  post,  and  of  the  vicissitudes,  trials, 
and  heroisms  of  army  life  on  the  plains,  in  what  are  called  '  times  of 
peace,"  the  two  novels  of  Captain  King  are  worthy  of  a  high  and  per- 
manent place  in  American  literature.  1  hey  will  hereafter  take  rank  with 
Cooper's  novels  as  distinctively  American  works  of  fictioQ." — Army  and 
Navy  Registir,  WasMxgtan,  D,  C 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY^ 

KITTY'S    CONQUEST. 

By  CAPX.  CHARI.es  KIT^G,  U.S.A., 

Author  of  "The  Colonel's  Daughter,"  "  Marion's  Faith,"  eta 
16mo.    Bxtra  Cloth.    $1.00. 


"  A  highly  entertaining  love  story,  the  scene  of  which  is  Uid  In  tlie  Soutfe 
Mven  years  after  the  war." — New  York  Herald. 

"  Capt.  King  has  given  us  another  delightful  story  of  American  life.  Th« 
reputation  of  the  author  will  by  no  means  suffer  through  his  second  venture. 
We  can  heartily  commend  the  story  to  all  lovers  of  the  American  novel."— 
U'ashifigioK  Capital. 

"Will  take  rank  with  its  gifted  author's  vivid  romance,  'The  Colonel's 
Daughter,'  and  should  become  as  popular.  Capt.  King  writes  fluently  and 
lelicitously,  and  in  the  novel  under  review  there  is  not  a  tiresome  page.  Every- 
thing is  graphic,  telling,  and  interesting.  The  plot  is  of  particular  excellence." 
— Philadelphia  Evening  Coil. 

"  '  Kitty's  Conquest,'  a  charming  little  story  of  love  and  adventure,  by 
Charles  King,  U.S.A.  The  plot  is  laid  in  the  South  during  the  reconstruction 
period  following  the  late  war.  The  book  is  written  in  a  most  attractive  style, 
and  abounds  in  bright  passages.  The  characters  are  drawn  in  a  very  pleasing 
manner,  and  the  plot  is  handled  very  successfully  throughout.  It  is  altogether 
a  pleasing  addition  to  the  library  of  modern  fiction." — Boston  Post. 

"  A  bright,  original,  captivating  story.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  South  soma 
twelve  years  ago.  It  is  full  of  life  from  the  word  '  go  1'  and  maintains  its  inters 
est  uninterruptedly  to  the  end.  The  varying  fortunes  through  which  the  heiw 
pursues  his  '  military  love-making'  are  graphically  depicted,  and  a  spice  of  dan- 
gerous adventure  makes  the  story  all  the  more  readable." — New  York  School 
journal. 

"A  bright  and  vivaciously-told  story,  whose  incidents,  largely  founded  upoB 
fact,  occurred  some  twelve  years  ago.  The  scene,  opening  in  Alabama,  is  soon 
transferred  to  New  Orleans,  where  the  interest  mainly  centres,  revolving  round 
the  troublous  days  when  Kellogg  and  Mc£nery  were  de  facto  and  de  juri 
claimants  of  supreme  power  in  Louisiana,  wV.en  the  air  was  filled  with  notes  ol 
warlike  preparation  and  the  tread  of  armed  men.  Though  the  heroes  are,  fot 
the  most  part.  United  States  officers,  there  is  yet  nothing  but  kindly  courtes| 
knd  generous  good-will  in  the  tone  of  the  story,  and  its  delineations  of  Souther* 
character  and  life,  of  Southern  scenes,  and  the  circumstances  and  conditions  of 
die  titne.  The  author  is  Charles  King,  himself  a  United  States  soldier,  whoM 
itory  of  '  The  Colonel's  Daughter'  has  been  well  received." — New  Orleam 
Tiitut'DttHocrat. 


*«*  For  sale  by  all  Bocksellert,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  •■ 
iceipt  of  the  price,  by 

J    B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Pnbliskers, 

715  and  717  Market  Street,  Philadelphia. 


TAKEN 

BY 

SIEGE 

A    NOVEI.. 

in  tSnio  Form, 

WITH 

Clear,    Large    T3T>e, 
Fine  Paper, 

AND 

Attractive  Binding. 

Extra  M.    $1.25. 


"This  is  a  charming  love-storj%  interesting'  alike  to  all,  and  sustains  a 
high  interest  to  the  close.  It  is  a  book  that  the  reader  will  not  willingly 
lay  aside  until  the  pleasing  sequel  is  reached."— 0/iio  Stale  Journal. 

"  A  graphic  and  very  interesting  anonymous  story  of  a  young  journal- 
ist's experiences  in  New  York.  Who  the  hero  may  be  is  enveloped  in 
mystery,  but  that  the  heroine  is  Miss  Clara  Louise  Kellogg  there  is  little 
doubt.  The  other  characters  will  be  readily  recognized  as  conspicuous 
in  New  York  society.  The  story  reveals  the  inside  workings  of  some  of 
the  metropolitan  newspapers,  and  shows  how,  by  pluck,  brains,  and  luck, 
a  new  man  may  sometimes  rise  rapidly  to  the  highest  rank  in  journal- 
ism, distancing  the  veterans.  The  author  has  unusual  ability  as  a  writer 
of  fiction." — Albany  Journal. 

"A  sketch  of  New  York  life,  characterized  by  a  certain  dash  and  fresh- 
ness. It  possesses  vigor  and  lightness.  The  author  has  produced  aa 
entertaining  story." — Boston  Journal. 

"  The  book  is  pure  and  wholesome ;  the  story  entertaining,  good, 
healthy,  and  readable." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"The  story  deals  with  the  living  forces  and  events  of  to-day,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  vital  and  strong  and  keenly  interesting  of  late  novels." — 
Boston  Evening  Traveller. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the 
price  by  the  Publisners, 

J.  B.   LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY, 

715  and  717  Market  St.,  Philadelpfala. 


PUBLICATIONS   OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

ON  BOTH  SIDES. 

By  Miss  Fanny  Courtenay  Baylor. 

foataiaing  "The  Perfect  Treasure"  and  "  On  This  Side,''  the  whole  forming  a  complete  itoij 

12mo.    Extra  cloth.    $1.25. 


"No  such  faithful,  candid,  kindly,  brilliant,  and  incisive  presentation  of 
English  and  American  types  has  before  been  achieved.  The  wit  of  th« 
Story  is  considerable.  It  is  written  brilliantly,  yet  not  flimsily.  It  is  the 
best  international  novel  that  either  side  has  hitherto  produced.  It  is  written 
by  an  American  woman  who  really  knows  both  countries,  and  who  has  shown 
that  she  possesses  powers  which  ought  to  put  her  in  the  front  rank  of  fiction." 
— Neiu  York  Tribune. 

"  For  a  number  of  months  past  the  readers  of  Lifpincott' s  Magazine  have 
been  delighted  by  the  instalments  of  one  of  the  most  charming  stories  that  has 
yet  been  written  by  an  American  girl,  and  the  wonder  was  that  the  story  did 
not  excite  a  wider  interest.  'On  Both  Sides'  has  now  been  published  in  book 
form,  and  proves  to  be  a  positive  surprise  to  the  literary  world.  There  is 
neither  an  Englishman  nor  an  American  writer  on  this  side  or  that  who  might 
not  be  proud  to  have  written  this  international  novel.  It  will  be  one  of  the 
most  popular  books  of  the  season, — one  that  will  be  read,  criticised,  and 
talked  about  in  all  the  circles  of  intelligent  society."— A'krw  Orleans  Picayune. 

"  Miss  Baylor's  clever  story  has  had  such  high  marks  of  appreciation  during 
its  appearance  as  a  seri.il  in  LippincoW s  Magazine,  that  its  publication  in 
book  form  is  most  gratifying.  There  is  one  test  of  the  unfailing  spirit  and 
good  humor  of  the  novel.  Hosts  of  magazine  readers  have  been  awaiting  its 
publication,  as  a  whole,  in  order  to  mail  it  to  English  friends.  Both  nationali- 
ties, in  fact,  are  so  delicately  and  humorously  satirized,  that  it  is  a  truly 
'international'  piece  of  fun.  The  good  points,  the  true  distinction  of  good 
breeding  in  manners  and  customs  pertaining  to  each  of  the  two  peoples,  and 
the  thorough  good  understanding  of  the  genuine  people  in  the  story,  are  the 
most  satisfactory  of  its  conclusions;  but  it  is  a  sharp  stylus  that  sets  down  the 
pretensions  of  the  vulgar  on  either  side.  It  looks  as  though  Dais^  Miller 
were  avenged  at  last— and  yet  no  offence  either  given  or  received.'  — Phila- 
delphia Ledger. 

"In  Miss  Baylor's  work  we  have  a  novel  entertaining  from  beginning  to 
end,  with  brightness  that  never  falls  flat,  that  always  suggests  something  be- 
yond the  mere  amusement,  that  will  be  most  enjoyed  by  tho=e  r>i  most  cultiva- 
tion, that  is  clever,  keen,  and  intellectual  enough  to  be  r^iognized  as  genuine 
■wit,  and  yet  good-natured  and  amiable  enough  to  be  accepted  as  the  most  de- 
lightful humor.  It  is  not  fun,  but  intelligent  wit ;  it  is  not  mere  comicality, 
but  charming  humor;  it  is  not  a  collection  of  bright  sayings  of  clever  people, 
but  a  reproduction  of  ways  of  thought  and  types  of  manner  infinitely  enter- 
taining to  the  reader,  while  not  in  the  least  funny  to  the  actor,  or  intended  Ijy 
him  to  appear  funny.  It  is  inimitably  good  as  a  rendering  of  the  peculiarities 
of  British  and  of  American  nature  and  training,  while  it  is  so  perfectly  fre« 
from  anything  like  ridicule,  that  the  victims  would  be  the  first  to  smile."— 
The  Critic.  

***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  om 
receipt  of  the  price  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  Publishers, 

No8.  715  AND  717  Market  Street,  Philadii.  wia. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

Behind  the  Blue  Ridge. 

A  HOMELY  NARRATIVE. 

By    FRANCES   COURTENAY    BAYLOR, 

Author  of  "  On  Both  Sides,"  etc. 


i2mo.    E^xtra  clotb.    $1.25. 


"A  capital  novel,  strong,  vivid,  well  written,  and  full  of  humor  of 
a  very  gratifying  kind." — Literary  World. 

"  It  is  lightened  through  and  through  by  humor  as  subtle  and  spon- 
taneous as  any  that  ever  brightened  the  dark  pages  of  life  history, 
and  is  warmed  by  that  keen  sympathy  and  love  for  human  nature 
which  transfigures  and  ennobles  everything  it  tduches." — Chicago 
Tribune. 

"Intensely  dramatic  in  construction,  rich  in  color,  picturesque  in 
description,  and  artistic  in  its  setting.  No  more  delightful  picture  of 
the  every-day  life  of  the  Virginia  mountaineers  could  well  be  imag- 
ined."—  Philadelphia  Record. 

"  The  incisive  and  poetical  presentation  of  the  theme  is  still  a 
characteristic  of  her  novels,  and  the  portrayal  of  character  is  as  clear 
cut  as  in  her  earlier  productions.  The  scenery  of  the  mountain  re- 
gion in  Virginia  is  sketched  with  loving  hand,  and  the  inhabitants, 
with  their  quaint  dialect,  form  an  interesting  study." — Boston  yournal. 

"A  bare  outline  can  give  no  idea  of  the  humor  and  tenderness 
which  mark  the  story.  The  characters  are  most  happily  hit  off,  and 
the  dialogue  is  true  to  the  life.  The  book  wili  rank  with  the  besc 
work  done  in  this  field." — New  York  American  Bookseller. 

"  Miss  Baylor  has  undoubtedly  scored  a  success.  To  those  who 
are  familiar  with  her  witty  sketches  this  novel  will  be  a  delightful 
surprise,  for  she  has  shown  as  much  skill  in  dealing  with  the  rustic 
types  as  she  has  been  wont  to  expend  upon  the  portraiture  of  the  leis- 
ure classes.  Her  Virginia  mountaineers  are  as  real  as  Craddock's 
Tennessee  mountaineers,  and  the  story  of  their  lives  is  full  of  humor 
and  pathos.  Each  character  is  a  genuine  human  being." — New 
Orleans  Times- Democrat. 

"This  is  a  graphic,  dramatic,  and  pathetic  'homely  narrative,'  as 
It  calls  itself,  of  Virginia  life  before,  during,  and  after  the  war.  It 
is  racy  of  the  soil,  and  abounds  in  strong  touches  of  local  character 
as  well  as  picturesque  and  eloquent  description.  It  is  one  of  the  best 
of  the  fast  multiplying  novels  of  Southern  life,  and  gives  abundant 
material  for  the  study  of  Southern  human  nature." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 


For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent,  post-paid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY^ 

AURORA. 

By  Mary  Agnes  Tincker,  author  of  "  The  Jewel  in  the 
Lotus,"  etc. 

Illustrated.    12mo.    Extra  cloth.    $1.25. 


"  It  is  a  story  so  delicately  wrought,  so  artistically  perfect,  that  one  reads  It 
with  a  delight  that  deepens  into  fervor  and  enthusiasm.  It  is  astory  of  Italian 
life, — of  love,  of  intrigue,  of  despair,  of  aspiration.  It  is  full  of  dramatic 
situations,  and  of  subtle,  pervasive  power." — BostoK  Evening-  Traveller. 

'"  Aurora,'  by  Mary  Agnes  Tincker,  is  a  novel  of  extraordinary  power  and 
Interest,  in  which  the  authorof '  Signor  Monaldinl's  Niece'  has  even  surpassed 
the  high  mark  made  in  that  remarkable  story.  Its  plot  is  original ;  its  varieties 
of  character  are  portrayed  with  consummate  skill;  the  different  scenes — in 
Granada,  in  Sassoviso,  at  Ischia,  and  in  Venice — are  like  pictures  in  vivid- 
ness; indeed,  the  entire  presentation  is  that  of  imagination  to  imagination." 
—Hartford  Courant. 

"The  whole  book  is  very  entertaining,  and_ there  are  one  or  two  English 
characters  in  whom  the  reader  will  be  interested." — London  Academy. 

"  Miss  Tincker's  stories  of  Italian  life  invariably  possess  points  of  high 
charm,  are  eloquent  in  description,  and  are  pervaded  by  a  poetic  ardor,  which 
she  puts  into  striking  relief  by  oflfering  in  contrast  vivid  and  realistic  pictures 
of  commonplace  existence.  In  'Aurora'  there  are  scandals,  falsehoods,  in- 
trigues, all  the  machinations  of  powerful  and  unscrupulous  workers  in  evil, 
which  finally  meet  their  punishment  and  their  remedy  in  the  catastrophe  of 
the  earthquake  at  Casamicciola.  This  culmination  of  the  story  is  admirably 
given,  and  is  full  of  powerful  and  artistic  effects." — Philadelphia  AmericaK. 

"  Everything  which  Miss  Tincker  writes  bears  the  stamp  of  a  refined  mind, 
a  poetic  temperament,  and  unmistakable  genius.  The  story  glows  with 
Southern  warmth  and  sparkles  with  good  things,  and  is  very  complete  in 
every  way." — London  IVhitehall  Review. 

"Possesses  all  the  charms  which  characterized  her  excellent  novel,  'The 
Jewel  in  the  Lotus.'  In  some  respects  it  is  a  better  written  story  than  the 
work  just  named,  and  it  falls  below  it  in  nothing.  There  is  a  genuine  feeling 
for  nature  and  poetry  throughout  the  book,  and  its  freshness  and  delicacy  are 
very  pleasant." — Nevn  York  Tribune. 

*#*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  oa 
teceipt  of  the  price  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

Kos.  715  and  717  Market  Street,  FhiladelphU. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.   B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

THE  JEWEL  IN  THE  LOTOS 

By    MARY    AGNES   TINCKER, 

AiiUior  of  "Anrora,"  "Sigaor  Uanaldioi's  Kieca,"  etc 


With    Five    Handsome    Illustrations    by  Thomas  anct 
Helen   C.    Hovenden. 


X2mo.    Extra  clotb.    %t.Vi, 


"  There  is  not  a  doll  page  in  it.  Every  one  in  this  novel,  from  Glcnlyon  la 
the  servants  in  the  kitchen,  has  his  separate  and  rounded  individuality.  It  is  fuU 
of  beautiful  pictures,  and  has  certain  passages  we  should  be  glad  to  quote,  but  we 
must  be  content  to  leave  these  to  the  reader  to  discover." — The  Literary  World. 

"A  very  pleasant  novel  to  read,  and  one  that  once  begun  will  be  finished  by 
the  reader.  It  is  peculiarly  fresh  and  breezy  and  out  of  doors." — St.  Louit 
Republican. 

"There  are  charming  descriptions  of  Italian  scenery  in  this  novel,  excellent 
drawings  of  titled  and  peasant  folk,  some  good  character  sketches  of  English 
people,  and  satire  that  is  delicate  and  true.  Uut  the  most  interesting  part  is  the 
Catholicism." — AVic  York  Times. 

"  Never  vras  a  book  written  that  contained  more  charming  descriptive  pas- 
sages. Here  and  there  through  the  book  they  appear  like  pictures  illuminating 
the  story  and  happily  transporting  the  writer  to  the  halian  country." — New 
Orleans  Picayune. 

"  The  story  is  an  intensely  interesting  one,  the  plot  is  strong,  the  characters 
natural,  and  the  style  clear,  graceful,  and  attractive,  ll  is  a  work  which  will  be 
read  with  profit  as  well  as  pleasure  in  every  home." — Baltimore  Evening  News. 

"  It  is  a  strong  novel,  full  of  human  nature  and  passion,  with  a  spice  of  the 
romantic  in  the  way  of  the  disputed  birth  of  the  heroine  and  a  band  of  mounted 
Sandits." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"A  novel  of  more  than  usual  interest." — Springfielil  Republican. 

"An  Italian  tale  of  the  highest  order  of  literary  merit.  The  pictures  of  life  in 
the  land  of  bright  skies  and  dark  deeds  are  powerfully  drawn,  as  with  a  masculine 
hand,  while  the  emotions  are  played  upon  with  a  touch  delicately  feminine.  The 
language  is  as  fluent  as  the  discernment  is  keen,  and  the  reader  is  carried  along  by 
an  easy  progress  through  the  details  of  a  rather  sad  plot  as  smoothly  as  the  glide 
of  a  gondola  on  a  Venetian  canal,  constantly  enjoying  sensations  as  grateful  as  the 
balmy  air  that  soothes  the  feelings  in  the  land  of  history  and  of  romance.  It  is  a 
valuable  addition  to  the  literature  of  the  day." — Pittsburgh  Commercial-Caztttt% 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

Qne  of  tfie  I^uanes. 

BY 

AL.ICE    VLWC    UAMILTOJV. 

12ino.    Extra  Cloth.    $1.25. 
CHEAP  KUITION.    Paper  Cover*.    S5  Ct». 


"  Bonny  Duane,  the  centre  of  interest,  is  a  delightful  young  lady, 
but  seems  more  Philadelphian  than  of  New  York  in  her  beliefs  and 
customs.  The  other  characters,  the  gossips  and  the  military  men, 
ftre  well  considered,  and  the  hero  is  as  perfect  as  one  would  like  both 
in  beauty  and  in  disposition.  But  the  merit  of  the  book  lies  not  in 
characters  which  are  rather  conventional,  but  in  the  scenes  and  the 
swift  movement  of  a  striking  plot.  The  author  knows  how  to  tell  a 
story." — Boston  yournal. 

"This  clever  story  of  an  artillery  post  is  based  upon  a  dramatic 
incident  of  military  life.  A  keen  eye  for  the  humorous  side,  and  an 
adequate  appreciation  of  dramatic  effects,  make  it  decidedly  agree- 
able reading." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"  An  interesting  novel  of  life  in  the  garrison  and  navy-yard  circles 
of  Pensacola,  and  ends  as  all  good  novels  should." — New  York  Home 
yournal. 

"This  is  a  tale  of  Florida  life,  full  of  adventure  and  thrilling  with 
interest.  It  is  written  in  Mrs.  Hamilton's  best  style,  and  deals  with 
the  social  customs  of  military  life,  varied  by  the  adventures  incident 
to  the  camp.  There  are  interwoven  with  the  thread  of  the  story 
many  bits  of  description  of  the  scenery  of  the  country  where  the  plot 
is  laid." — Baltimore  Herald. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  best  of  recent  novels,  is  well  told,  and  holds  the 
reader's  interest  to  the  end." — German  town  Telegraph. 

"  A  well-written  and  interesting  novel,  with  a  plot  somewhat  out 
of  the  usual  course.  The  story  is  a  pleasant  one,  and  will  repay 
those  who  select  it  for  reading  at  the  sea-side  or  mountain  this 
summer." — Toledo  Blade. 

"  It  is  an  intensely  interesting  book,  as  when  did  a  story  of  army 
life,  either  in  time  of  peace  or  war,  fail  to  be  ?  It  is  a  book  than  which 
few  are  more  entertaining." — Boston  Globe. 

"  Eminently  readable  and  entertaining." — Charlest»n  News  and 
Courier. 

*if*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  om 
receipt  of  the  price  by 

(/.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

Nob.  715  and  717  Market  Street,  Philadelphia. 


MRS.  H.  LOVETT  CAMERON'S  NOVELS. 

i6ino.     Half  cloth,  50  cents.     Paper  cover,  25  cents. 


A  LIFE'S    MISTAKE. 

Mrs.  Cameron  is  a  vivacious,  entertaining,  and  pure  writer.  The 
plot  and  movement  of  her  stories  are  interesting,  and  they  are  all  de- 
servedly popular. 

WORTH    WINNING. 

"A  story  that  is  well  calculated  to  hold  the  reader's  interest  from 
beginning  to  end.     The  style  is  good," — Savannah  News. 

"A  very  interesting  story  of  English  life,  the  characters  being  well 
sketched  and  the  plot  skilfully  developed." — Washington  {D.C.)  Public 
Opinion. 

VERA    NEVILL; 

Or,  Poor  Wisdom's  Chance. 

"  There  is  unusual  force  in  this  novel.  The  character  of  the  heroine 
is  drawn  with  great  power,  while  the  incidents  fit  into  each  other  with 
rare  skill,  leading  up  to  the  denouement  with  an  artistic  fitness  not  often 
seen." — Peterson  s  Magazine. 

"  Is  intensely  dramatic.  The  style  throughout  is  bright  and  read- 
able."— San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

PURE    GOLD. 

"  It  is  well  written,  and  the  book  throughout  is  thoroughly  interest- 
ing."— Boston  Globe. 

"  It  is  an  interesting  story." — Baltimore  American. 

"A  good  old  English  story  of  the  present  day,  and  can  be  read  with 
profit." — St.  Louis  Republican. 

IN   A  GRASS   COUNTRY. 

A  Story  of  Love  and  Sport. 

"  Is  so  fresh  and  fascinating  that  one  cannot  easily  Be  tempted  to  lay 
the  book  aside  without  having  read  it  from  cover  to  cover." — Boston 
Advertiser. 

"  Is  an  uncommonly  good  story  of  love  and  sport.  It  is,  first  of  all, 
entertaining.  There  is  not  a  dull  line  in  the  whole  story,  nor  a  para- 
graph to  be  skipped.    The  book  is  full  of  merriment." — New  York  Critic. 


***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  pre- 
paid, on  receipt  of  the  price  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Publishers, 
7x5  and  717  Market  St.,  Philadelphia. 


•  PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

Popular  Novels 

By  the  Misses  "Warner. 


THE  TVIDE,  1¥IUE  TVORLD.       i2mo.     694  pages. 
Fine  cloth.     $1.50. 

QUEECIIY.      i2mo.      Two  Illustrations.     806  pages.     Fine 
cloth.     2SI-50- 

THE    HIL.L.S  OF  THE    SHATEHIJC.     i2mo.     516 
pages.      Fine  cloth.     ;?i.50. 

MY   BROTHER'S  KEEPER.    i2mo.    385  pages.   Fine 
cloth.     ^1.50. 

DOLL.ARS    AXD    CEHTS.      i2mo.      515   pages.      Fine 
cloth.     ^1.50. 

DAISY.     i2mo.     815  pages.     Fine  cloth.     $1.50. 

SAY  AlVD   SEALi.     l2mo.     1013  pages.     Fine  cloth.     $1.^0. 

m'Cnnvplefe  sets  nf  the  above  seven  volumes,  bound  in  uni- 
form style,  put  tip  in  neat  boxes,     I'rice,  SIO.AO. 

The  sale  of  thousands  of  the  above  volumes^attests  their  popularity.  They 
are  stories  of  unusual  interest,  remarkably  elevated'and  natural  in  tone  and 
sentiment,  full  of  refined  and  healthy  thought,  and  exhibiting  an  intimate  and 
accurate  knowledge  of  human  nature. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD 

By   Elizabeth  Wetherell.      With   Etchings  by  Frederick 

DiELMAN.     Complete  in  one  volume.     Small  8vo.     Printed 

on  laid  paper.     Cloth,  extra.     $2.50. 

But  few  stories  have  had  such  a  sale  as  this  work.  It  will  be  always  read 
by  succeeding  generations,  and  ever  find  a  welcome  in  American  homes.  The 
additional  attraction  of  Dielman's  etchings  will  create  a  new  demand  for  the 
book.  

***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  on 
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J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY,  Publishers, 

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PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

BOOKS  FOR  THE  YOUNC. 

ANIMALS,  THEIR  HOMES  #  THEIR  HABITS. 

A  Book  for  Young  People.  By  Uncle  Warren.  With  24  full- 
page  Illustrations.  Small  folio.  Cloth,  full  gilt,  and  gilt 
edges.     ;j!2.oo.     Boards.    j?i.25. 

This  volume,  like  Uncle  Warren's  about  Birds,  is  especially  written  for  the 
young,  and  has  a  fund  of  information  which  will  be  highly  enjoyed  by  them. 


BIRDS,  THEIR  HOMES  AND  THEIR  HAUNTS. 

A  Book  for  Young  People.    By  Uncle  Warren.    With  24  full- 
page  Illustrations.     Small  folio.     Cloth,  full   gilt,  and  gilt 
edges.     ^2.00.    Boards.     $1.25. 
This  work,  carefully  prepared  for  the  young,  contains  an  account  of  up- 
ward of  a  hundred  of  the  most  popular  birds.     It  is  crowded  with  instruction 
and  entertainment,  and  well  adapted  to  the  taste  of  the  children  of  the  present 
generation. 

RED   BESAUTY. 

A  Story  of  the  Pawnee  Trail.    By  William  O.  Stoddard. 

With  Frontispiece.     i2mo.     Extra  cloth.     $\.2'^. 

A  thrilling  tale  of  pioneer  life  in  the  far  West,  written  in  Mr.  Stoddard's 
happiest  vein.  It  is  full  of  adventure  and  stirring  incidents,  and  graphically 
depicting  the  dangers  surrounding  first  settlers  in  that  region. 


CHARLEY  LUGKEN  AT  SCHOOL  AND  COLLEGE 

By  the  Rev.  H.  C.  Adams,  M.A.,  author  of  "For  James  or 
George,"  "  School-Boy  Honor,"  etc.  With  Illustrations  by 
J.  Finnemore.     i2mo.     Extra  cloth.     $i.^Q. 

THE  PRINCESS  AND  THE  GOBLIN. 

By  George  Macdonald.      With   Thirty    Illustrations.      I2m». 

Extra  cloth.     ^1.25. 

BY  the  same  author: 

THE  PRINCESS  AND  CURDIE. 

A  New  Juvenile.  Companion  volume  to  "  The  Princess  and  the 
Goblin."  With  numerous  full-page  Illustrations.  i2mo.  Extra 
cloth.    $1.25. 

RANALD  BANNERMAN'S  BOYHOOD. 

With  numerous  Illustrations,     ismo.     Extra  cloth.     ^^-^S- 

AT  THE  BACK  OF  THE  NORTH  WIND. 

With  76  Illustrations.     i2mo.     Extra  cloth.    ^^1.25. 
THE  FOUR  VOLUMES  IN   A   BOX,  $5.00. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

NEW  BOOKS  FOR  THE  YOUNG. 

THE  BOY  WANDERER; 

Or.  No  Relations.  From  the  French  of  Hector  Malot, 
With  Illustrations.     8vo.     Cloth,  gilt.     ^2.00. 

This  entertaining  story  gained  Mr.  Malot  the  Monthyon  Prize  of  Virtue. 
It  was  translated  a  number  of  years  ago,  and  appeared  under  the  second  title, 
which  failed  to  give  a  clear  idea  of  the  book.  The  work  is  not  only  suitable 
foi  general  reading,  but  is  specially  adapted  to  the  taste  of  young  people,  and 
its  attractiveness  in  this  respect  is  much  increased  by  the  introduction  of  nuri- 
erous  engravings  from  the  original  French  edition. 

"An  extremely  fascinating  story,  written  with  unflagging  force,  and  is  full 
of  genuine  pathos  as  of  graceful  and  delicate  descriptions.  .  .  .  This  novel 
fully  deserves  the  honor  that  has  been  done  it." — Blackwood's  Magazine. 

ARMINIUS  VAMBERY; 

His  Life  and  Adventures.  Written  by  Himself.  With  Por- 
trait and  many  Illustrations.  One  vol.  Large  l2mo.  Cloth, 
gilt.     ^1.50. 

This  work  contains  a  personal  narrative  of  travel  and  adventures  in  Asia  and 
Europe,  and  is  a  book  that  will  be  read  by  all  lovers  of  travel  and  adventures. 

"  A  most  fascinating  work,  full  of  interesting  and  curious  experiences." — 
Contemporary  Review. 

"  Has  all  the  fascination  of  a  lively  romance." — Daily  Telegraph, 


OUR  YOUNG  FOLKS'  ENOYCLOPi;- 
DIA  OF  TRAVEL. 

A  Book  of  Travel  and  Adventure.  Consisting  of  "  OUR  Young 
Folks  Abroad"  and  "Our  Young  Folks  in  Africa" 
combined  in  one  volume.  The  Adventures  of  a  Party  of 
young  Americans  in  Europe,  Algeria,  and  in  South  Central 
Africa.  By  James  D.  McCabe.  Illustrated  with  over  500 
Engravings.     Imperial  8vo.     Extra  cloth.     ^2.50. 

"  This  book  is  accurate,  readable,  and  vivacious,  and  at  once  amusing  and 
Instructive.  The  illustrations  are  numerous  and  reliable,  and  add  much  to  th« 
Value  of  the  work." — Boston  Courier. 

"  By  a  popular  writer,  who  tells  an  interesting  story  of  an  Interesting  land. 
Such  a  book  as  young  folks  will  understand  and  older  folks  enjoy." — Wheeling 
Intelligencer.  

BOYS'  STORIES. 

By  AscooT  R.  Hope.  With  Illustrations.  i2mo.  Cloth. 
#1.50. 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 
"A  VEET  HANDSOME  AND  A  VEET  VALUABLE  WOEK." 


Our  Young  Folks'  Plutarch. 

Especially  Adapted  for  Boys  and  Girls. 

Being  all  of  Plutarch  Told  in  a  Simple,  Easy,  and 
Pleasant  Style. 

By  ROSALIE  KAUFMAN, 

^VITH    HL.LTJSTE.-A.TIONS    -A-ND    IM^PS. 

Square  870.    Estra  Cloth.    $2.50, 


"  This  is  one  of  the  most  tasteful  and  substantially  handsome 
books  for  young  readers  that  has  come  under  our  eyes  for  a  long 
time.  The  publishers  have  given  these  admirable  stories  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  best  book-making,  and  they  certainly  deserve  all 
that  art  can  do  to  make  them  attractive  to  children.  We  unhesi- 
tatingly commend  this  volume  as  one  of  the  very  best  which  the 
season  will  offer  to  book -buyers." — A^ew  York  Christian  Union. 

"  The  book  is  well  written,  and  can  hold  the  attention  of  the 
•Id  as  well  as  young  through  its  pages." — Godey^s  Lady's  Book. 

"  Young  readers  will  find  these  old  biographies  far  more  inter- 
esting and  instructive  than  the  vast  majority  of  juvenile  tales." — 
Pittsburg  Presbyterian  Banner. 

"  Rosalie  Kaufman  has  done  good  service  in  the  popular  cause 
of  juvenile  literature.  Plutarch  is  an  author  whose  fascination 
first  shows  itself  upon  the  young,  and  then  holds  an  abiding 
place  of  honor  even  to  extreme  old  age.  What  a  treat  lies  before 
the  eager  boy  or  thoughtful  girl  to  whom  Plutarch  will  introduce, 
for  the  first  time,  the  splendid  personages  of  whom  he  writes." — 
The  American. 

*^*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage 
prepaid,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PubUshers, 

\  715  and  717  Market  St.,  Philadelphia, 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY, 


AN   INSTRUCTIVE    BOOK   FOR    THE    YOUNG. 


OUR  YOUNG  FOLKS'  JOSEPHDS. 

The  Antiquities  of  the  Jews,  and  the  Jewish  Wars  of  Flavias  Josephas. 
Edited  by  WILLIAM   SHEPARD. 


With  Eight  IllnstrationB.    Large  Octavo.    Extra  cloth,  gilt.    $2.50i 


"  One  would  have  thought  that  there  was  little  or  nothing  in  the  history  of 
'The  Jewish  Wars,'  as  related  by  Josephus,  that  could  be  made  readable  for 
young  people.  Yet  Mr.  Shepard  has  succeeded  in  making  it  so,  and  to  a  very 
marked  degree.  In  his  '  Young  Folks'  Josephus'  he  has  admirably  simplified 
the  story  of  his  people  which  that  ancient  Jewish  historian  gave  to  the  Romans 
some  eighteen  centuries  ago,  omitting  such  parts  as  have  no  special  interest, 
and  giving  to  the  narrative  a  charm  and  picturesqueness  well  fitted  to  arrest  and 
to  hold  the  attention  of  young  readers." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"Mr  Shepard,  in  simplifying  Josephus,  has  met  a  want  of  the  times. 
These  old  masterpieces  of  literature  which  it  used  to  be  thought  only  mature 
minds  could  comprehend,  rewritten  into  simpler  language  for  young  readers 
cannot  fail  of  bringing  about  grand  results.  The  '  Young  Folks'  Josephus'  is 
written  in  language  that  any  scholar  in  the  fourth  reader  class  can  readily  un- 
derstand and  enjoy." — Chautauguan ,  MeadirilU,  Pa. 

"Adapting  the  text  from  the  Etory  of  the  Old  Testament  as  written  by 
Josephus,  Mr.  William  Shepard  presents  an  interesting  volume  for  the  use  of 
young  people.  The  illustrations,  reductions  from  JJore,  add  much  to  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  book." — Neiv  York  Times. 

"A  sample  of  the  commendable  work  which  is  being  done  in  providing 
valuable  literature  for  the  young  is  shown  in  '  Our  Young  Folks'  Josephus,'  a 
simplified  version  of  the  Jewish  historian,  written  by  William  Shepard.  The 
book  comprises  a  brief  life  of  Josephus,  a  chronological  table  of  the  leading 
events  in  Jewish  history  from  2078  B.C.  to  70  A.D.,  and  the  substance  of  the 
two  works  of  Josephus,  '  The  Antiquity  of  the  Jews'  and  *  The  Jewish  Wars.' 
Mr.  Shepard  has  reproduced  the  narrative  of  the  Jewish  writer  in  a  captivat- 
ing form.  His  style  is  a  model  of  perspicuity  and  compression,  and  will  be 
apt  to  enchain  the  reader  by  its  charm  alone.  A  number  of  illustrations  after 
Dor^  are  scattered  through  the  text." — Chicago  Dial. 

"A  specially  valuable  book  for  boys  is  '  Our  Young  Folks'  Josephus,'  be- 
ing an  adaptation  of  the  'Antiquities  of  the  Jews'  and  '  The  Jewish  Wars'  of 
Flavins  Josephus,  by  William  Shepard.  Mr.  Shepard  has  simplified  the  story 
of  the  Jews  as  told  by  Josephus,  so  that  the  youngest  child  can  easily  compre- 
hend the  facts.  The  present  of  a  book  of  this  character  to  a  boy  or  girl  is  a 
very  sensible  act.  The  work  is  not  of  an  ephemeral  nature.  While  the  lan- 
guage is  simplified,  it  contains  the  meat  and  substance  of  'Josephus,'  and  will 
remain  a  standard  work." — IFasAing-ion  Post. 


%*  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  vt^ill  be  sent  by  mail,  postagtt, 
prepaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

715  and  717  Mmrlcet  St.,  PhUadelplllat 


PUBLICATIONS   OF  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 

Our  Young  Folks'  Roman  Empire. 

By  William  Shepard.  Uniform  with  "  Young  Folks'  Plutarch" 
and  "Josephus."  8vo.  With  Sixteen  Illustrations  and  Maps. 
Extra  cloth,  gilt.     ^2.50. 

"  The  author,  in  his  brief  preface,  explains  that  the  features  of  his  book 
which  adapt  it  to  juvenile  perusal  are  that  it  is  written  in  homely  English, 
that  it  dwells  very  lightly  upon  those  darker  features  of  social  life  in  the  Roman 
Empire  which  make  a  more  detailed  picture  of  that  period  unfit  for  young 
people,  and  that  it  avoids  controverted  questions,  especially  in  matters  of  sec- 
tarian concern.  The  work  fairly  justifies  all  these  claims,  and  offers  a  clear 
and  well-arranged  narrative,  which  older  readers,  who  have  no  time  for  Gib- 
bon, may  peruse  with  instruction  and  interest.  There  are  some  tolerably 
good  illustrations  and  a  satisfactory  map." — Netu  York  Critic. 

"  The  author,  confining  himself  to  admitted  facts  of  history,  tells  the  story 
and  characteristics  of  the  succeeding  reigns  in  manner  to  bring  out  qualities  of 
men  and  events  and  make  his  young  reader  interested  in  and  appreciate  them, 
the  while  begetting  in  him  a  love  of  the  study  of  history.  No  work  of  the 
kind  could  be  more  desirable,  and  it  will  secure  the  favor  of  all  who  examine 
it  carefully.  It  contains  478  pages,  with  a  reproduction  of  the  statue  of  Julius 
Caesar,  fifteen  full-page  illustrations,  and  a  map.  It  is  printed  on  fine  paper, 
and  bound  in  strong  covers,  having  holiday  attractiveness." — Boston  Globe. 

"  William  Shepard  has  done  a  good  work  for  old  folks  as  well  as  young. 
The  book  evinces  a  good  deal  of  painstaking  reading  of  the  standard  works  on 
Roman  history,  and  an  unusual  tact  in  stating  simply  and  clearly  matters  that 
have  often  been  mystified  by  mere  rhetorical  embellishments." — Philadelphia. 
Times. 

"  The  author  of  this  splendid  volume  has  fully  accomplished  hii>  purpose 
in  preparing  a  history  of  the  Roman  empire  adapted  to  juvenile  perusal.  That 
such  a  task  is  no  light  one  can  be  readily  understood  when  it  is  remembered 
that  only  the  few  and  specially  gifted  succeed.  Thus,  from  his  discussion  of 
the  causes  which  led  to  the  formation  of  the  empire  up  to  those  which  brought 
its  fall,  he  has  collated  a  succinct  history  of  events,  brmging  into  prominence 
only  those  pleasing  dramatic  pictures  in  which  the  youthful  mind  would  most 
naturally  find  attraction  and  entertainment.  The  illustrations  are  spirited," 
— Si,  Louis  Republican. 

"  We  are  surprised  sometimes  to  notice  the  wonderful  voluntary  interest 
manifested  in  the  study  of  ancient  history.  This  book  answers  our  queries  in 
that  regard.  The  story  of  the  Roman  empire,  from  its  mythical  beginning 
through  all  the  centuries  of  struggle  for  greatness  to  the  fall  and  consequent 
breaking  up  (if  its  accumulated  strength,  is  most  charmingly  told.  There  is  no 
reason  why  our  young  people  should  devote  their  time  to  the  reading  of  worth- 
less publications,  when  the  very  best,  containing  the  facts  of  history,  the  deeds 
of  great  and  mighty  men,  the  destinies  of  nations,  are  written  in  such  fasci- 
nating style,  bringing  them,  so  to  speak,  in  contact  with  the  people  ot  centuries 
ago.  Every  teacher  of  history  should  make  this  work  a  companion,  because 
a  careful  study  ofit  will  enable  him  to  present  the  facts  of  history  in  a  manner 
to  please  and  properly  inform  the  youthful  mind." — Chautauguan,  Cin.,  O. 

***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid, 
0n  receipt  of  the  price,  by 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PubUshers, 

715  and  717  Market  St.,  PliUadelphia. 


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